Hope for the Hopeless
by drjekyllmshyde
Summary: <html><head></head>A masked stranger saves the life of a young woman in the woods, not realizing how she would change his life in turn. Takes place between Erik's time in Italy and Persia in Kay's version of events, approximately 30 years before the events in Leroux's novel</html>
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This story is written with the novel Phantom by Susan Kay in mind, though if I take this into the time frame of the original novel it will become more Leroux-based. Nadya is mine, everything else belongs to Gaston Leroux and Susan Kay. My goal is to get a chapter or two up a week; some weeks may be more, some may be less, we'll see. Feedback is always appreciated, so if you have the time leave a review. They make my day. :)

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><p>Her pursuers whooped and shouted with cruel pleasure as she ran as fast as her legs would carry her though the woods. Twigs snapped under bare feet as she ran, leaping over a fallen tree with the grace and desperation of a doe in an attempt to flee the wolfish men not far behind her. The crisp autumn air was beginning to burn in her lungs, but stopping was not an option.<p>

The mossy forest floor was quickly giving way to gravel, and the sound of running water quickly grew louder. Without pausing for a moment the young woman turned quickly to her right and continued, hoping beyond hope that the river ran straight. If luck was on her side there was a chance she could lose her would-be attackers before she completely lost her bearings.

Luck was not on her side. The men must have split to cut her off, for there one stood, tall and fair-haired in her path. Skidding to a halt, the young woman hurriedly dug a knife out of her skirts. The blade was small, meant only to dig up roots and mushrooms, but it was sharp and might afford her a final chance at safety.

The wolfish man stepped forward with a grin, holding up his hands as if in defense. "You gypsies have spirit," he remarked in a language foreign to the girl who brandished the knife more boldly than she felt, the one word she recognized making her blood boil. Gypsy. These European pigs thought them so civilized and her so wild when it was they who wanted nothing more than to satisfy themselves!

"I hear they're just as spirited in the sheets," a second man remarked from directly behind her, causing her to pivot and attempt to brandish the knife in a way that threatened both of them. This only seemed to amuse the men as they advanced on her with little concern. The man who had spoken first grabbed the arm wielding the blade as her attention was on the other man. She yelped and began to thrash wildly as knife dropped and the men attempted to contain her. Biting and kicking did little to stop the stronger men from pushing her down onto the gravel.

Without warning a voice boomed from the trees, causing the struggling trio to freeze. "Leave the woman," it commanded, causing the men to glance between one another. Gathering her wits, the young woman scrambled to her feet and grabbed the knife off the ground as the men sized up this new threat.

"And why should we?" The fair-haired man demanded. "Because some coward who can't even show his face said so?"

A dark laugh came from the trees then, and a movement behind her caused the young woman to spin. A tall black horse stepped forward, its rider equally imposing. The man was tall and sat in the saddle like royalty in spite of his working man's wardrobe, with sleeves rolled past the elbow and a vest neatly buttoned over his narrow frame. He was an odd sight indeed, but one thing made him odder still – A black leather mask adorned the man's face, his eyes glinting behind it like stars in the night. Those eyes found hers with ease, and for a moment it looked as though he were debating whether or not to continue intervening. When he spoke again, his eyes were still locked onto hers. "I am giving you one final chance. Leave the woman, and keep your lives. Should you refuse you will find yourselves standing upon your graves."

"Was that a threat, Gnädiger Herr?" The fair-haired man demanded, the title dripping with sarcasm. Unable to pull her gaze away from the mounted man's, the young woman only perceived only a flash of silver as the man flung a blade at the insulter, dropping him to the ground the instant the blade pierced his throat. The second man's eyes widened at the instantaneous of his companion, and the coward hesitated for only a moment before bolting back into the woods the way he had come.

Finally the masked man dropped her gaze, leaving her feeling as though she had been lifted from a trance. The gravity of the man's actions washed over her in a wave as he rode the horse past her and dismounted, striding with long legs to retrieve his knife from the neck of his victim, and even freed from his gaze all she could do was stare.

As the man stood again, he noticed her look. "Shouldn't you be off to your camp, Gypsy?" He demanded, the first words she recognized since the chase began. Again that word, spoken this time with disgust."

"…You speak Romani?" she asked curiously, but the man made no answer. She tried again. "You insult me in my own language, and you saved my virtue if not my life. You are an odd man."

"If I had known you were a Gypsy I would have passed by unannounced," he promised, again speaking the word 'gypsy' as though it were bitter on the tongue.

"You killed that man without even looking at him," she remarked. "I couldn't turn my eyes away from you… You didn't want me to see," she concluded finally, dark brows furrowed curiously as the man wiped his blade on the leather of his horse's stirrup before mounting more gracefully than a man of his height ought to have.

"There are certain things no woman should see," he concluded, tucking the knife into his riding boot.

"My name is Nadya. Please, come to camp with me. You look as though you haven't eaten in days," she offered, and it was the truth. The man was far thinner than even a sickly Roma man, his pale arms almost skeletal looking.

"I have no interest in fraternizing with your kind," the man said simply. How was he able to make her feel guilty for simply being of her own race?

"Sir, you saved my life. At least let me do you this small favor in return. Your horse looks as though he could use the rest as well. How long have you been traveling?"

The man was quiet for a long moment, but he did not move away. "I have been traveling most of my life, the same as you. My most recent journal has been nearly two years."

"It doesn't look to me as though you've rested much of it. Come and eat with us, have some wine. My father will want to thank you."

"It was my understanding Gypsies are loathe to let outsiders into camp," the man remarked, and Nadya could tell she was wearing him down.

"It is, but an exception would undoubtedly be made for a man who speaks our tongue and who saved me," she promised. There was another long period of silence as the man carefully considered her offer.

Finally he made his choice. "Very well," he said, offering his hand down to help her up onto the hulking horse. Nadya accepted it and gracefully pulled herself behind him. She couldn't help but notice him watching her as she mounted, as curious of her as she was of him.

"Head north and away from the river. We're camped in a clearing about two miles off."

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><p>The welcome they received upon reaching the camp was about as warm as the man had expected, the men moving forward to inspect the intruder with their hands hovering just over their knives. Nadya slipped gracefully off the back of the horse, and one of them men dropped his hand, stunned. "Nadya? Is this who you've been with all this time?" The man asked, both angry and astonished.<p>

The young woman shook her head, long dark waves flowing as she did so. "No, Papa. I picking mushrooms and tubers when some men from the city approached me. I ran and ran all the way to the river, and this man saved me," she explained. "I might not have come back at all if it weren't for him. I invited him to share a meal and rest his horse. He's been traveling for a long time. Papa, he even speaks our language."

Looking from his daughter to the masked man on horseback, the proud Roma man spoke again. "Is this true, Stranger?"

"I cannot vouch for your daughter's whereabouts before I found her, but everything after is true," the mounted man confirmed in the same tongue.

After a hesitant silence, the man waved to his peers, who let their hands fall from their blades. "What is your name, Stranger?"

"Erik."

"Only Erik?"

The masked man nodded curtly, and the Roma man waved the man down. "Very well then, Erik. Supper is nearly ready, Come and break bread with us."

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><p>Erik sat on his own and ate in silence, keeping a careful eye on his horse as he ate. Nadya sat beside him, cupping her wooden bowl in her hands and smiling to him. "You look as though you could use some company."<p>

"I'm quite fine on my own," Erik remarked, though he made no attempt to move. The young woman blew gently on her stew to cool it before taking a sip. "It would be better with mushrooms," he added, watching her as she laughed lightly.

"Ah, so my savior has a sense of humor," she praised. "I was beginning to think I had been rescued by Death Himself."

"Your tribe is small," Erik said, ignoring her jibe.

Nadya nodded her agreement. "We are only one family, twenty eight of us in total. About fifty years ago my grandfather decided that we should split away from another group when there was a disagreement over whether or not to begin displaying freaks. A horse had been born dead, but with two heads. A few of the men thought it would be a wonderful source of revenue. My grandfather thought it was disrespectful, and since no compromise could be reached he split away from the others. Here we are."

Erik stared into his bowl wordlessly. Nadya watched him curiously, wishing she could read his features under the mask. "Did I say something to offend you?"

The masked man shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "On the contrary."

Sensing it was not a subject the man wished to pursue, Nadya returned to her stew, placing the bowl aside and turning to face him, holding out her hands expectantly. "Give me your hand."

In spite of the mask, Nadya could tell Erik was raising a brow out of curiosity and concern. "Come now, I'm not going to hurt you. Give me your hand," she insisted again, and finally Erik obeyed. Nadya turned it over and smiled. "You're left handed," she remarked, and Erik seemed surprised.

"How did you know?"

Nadya smiled brightly. "You just handed me your left hand. Most people hand me their right," she explained, and the man seemed somewhat impressed by the observation. She continued, studying his hand and drawing her fingers across its various divots and lines as she spoke with a small frown. "You have led a very difficult life, even though you are not as old as I thought. You were mistreated by a parent from a very young age, and at one point were held in captivity. Your experiences have made you hard hearted, yet I also see that you are insatiably curious. You can appreciate beauty in a way that few others can, and the wonders of the world do not escape you. You have the strongest head line I have ever seen," she added, looking up to him, "yet you also have calluses on your hands. I've never seen a working man with such intelligence. But you aren't book learned. You learn through your experiences. They are what have made your heart hard."

Erik watched her intently as she continued tracing the lines in his hand. "You have a short temper but a great capacity for love. This has gotten you into trouble in the past, and it will continue to trouble you well into the future. There will be two great loves in your life. One of them will be lasting, the other will be vain and fleeting. It's strange though, it seems the lasting love comes first."

"You are much better than the other fortune tellers I've seen," Erik remarked quietly. "Why do you think a lasting love would come first?"

"Well, there are several possibilities I suppose. The first thing that occurs to me is that she might die and you will be a widower. Another thought is that sometimes love simply isn't enough. Perhaps she leaves, perhaps you leave, but you will never love her any less for it. Or perhaps I'm simply wrong and the vain love does come first. When did you see other fortune tellers?" Nadya asked curiously as Erik pulled his hand away.

"You are too curious for your own good," he remarked, standing to wash his bowl. "Thank you for the meal."

Nadya frowned and stood, taking her own bowl to the wash. "It's going to be dark soon. Where are you going to camp?"

"I'm not."

"You could stay the night with us," she offered, and the masked man turned to her sharply.

"What is wrong with you?"

The young woman looked confused as she pushed a dark wave of hair back over her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I say. First you insisted I eat with you, then you question me as thoroughly as St. Peter at the gates of Heaven, now you want me to stay the night in your camp. Were you dropped on your head as an infant?" He demanded, the shocked look on her face causing his shoulders to drop some, almost as though he regretted his words though he made no attempt to apologize.

"You spilled a man's blood to protect my virtue, if not my life, in spite of your obvious prejudice against my people. To me, that is worth far more than a meal and safe place to spend the night. I don't know what it is you think you know about the Roma people, but in our family we repay the gifts we have been given. I admit, I questioned you because I am curious. I forget sometimes how private Europeans can be, and I do apologize if my questions have offended you," she promised sincerely. Erik hung his head some as Nadya took his bowl with hers to dry it.

"All right," he finally announced as Nadya was moving back towards the fire. Smoothing her brightly colored skirt, Nadya looked up to him curiously and sat. "I'll stay the night."


	2. Chapter 2

"You're braver than I took you for," Erik remarked from the back of his horse, looking down on the young woman. Nadya looked up at him over her shoulder with a bright smile brushing off her hands and sitting back on her heels in the soft soil.

"Why is that?"

"Just yesterday you were attacked by a pair of men out here, but here you are."

Nadya stood and patted the large horse's neck. "Life doesn't stop because of swine like them. Are you going back on your way?"

Erik nodded and Nadya dug into the apron around her deep blue skirt and held up a small bundle tied neatly with a piece of twine. "Some bread and dried meat for your journey," she explained.

"How did you know I'd be passing by this way?" Erik asked, and Nadya's eyes lit up in amusement.

"If I were a halfway decent performer I would remind you I tell fortunes and that would be that. But I'm not, so I'll admit I didn't know. I always carry a little bread and meat, but you're welcome to it."

"Your performance yesterday was quite marvelous," Erik praised, waving the offering away before dismounting and walking forward. Nadya watched curiously as the man walked, and soon found herself following him through the trees.

"What performance?"

"Reading my palm. I was impressed."

Nadya knit her brow as she placed the small parcel back into the apron tied around her waist. "That wasn't a performance. My grandmother taught me how when I was a little girl. It isn't magic or anything, it's simply reading people's stories through the part of them that most often comes in contact with the world."

"I'm quite familiar with palmistry, Nadya," Erik promised, dismissing her as though she were a child. "I've seen many a man swindled out of his coin for a far less believable show than yours, I'm trying to pay you a compliment."

"I don't find that to be a compliment at all," she stated simply, folding her arms under her breasts as they walked. "What troupe did you travel with before, Erik?"

Erik froze in his steps and rounded on her. Nadya's heart skipped a beat in fright as his voice dropped into an ominous growl. Before his eyes had seemed like stars against the dark night of his masked face. Now they seemed like the eyes of a cougar. "Who told you?"

"I-"

"Who told you?" He barked again, stepping forward and towering over her so ominously she stepped quickly back.

"Nobody! It wasn't that much of a leap, Erik. You speak our language perfectly; that alone was a strong hint," she defended, and after a long moment the man stepped back and set his jaw.

"Yes, I suppose it would be."

"You speak our language but your skin is pale and you refer to us as Gypsies as though you were as ignorant about our culture as the rest of Europe. What have we done that offended you so?" Nadya demanded as Erik's attention became fixated on the ground between them. She grew wary as his fist clenched tightly against his side and the silence that followed seemed to drag on for hours.

It wasn't until he spoke that Nadya realized his anger was in no way directed towards her. "When I was a boy, I was a part of a traveling faire out west. A large group of Gypsies had taken on a Frenchman with a taste for the bizarre. He was never accepted as one of them, they helped him fetch acts for his show, he made sure they always had an audience."

If Erik could pull his gaze away from the ground, he would have seen the look of disgust growing upon the girl's face. "You traveled with a freak show? Why?"

Erik snorted ironically and gestured to the black leather upon his face with a flourish, finally looking up. "A treat for the eyes such as myself shouldn't be kept from the public."

Nadya frowned deeply. "I wasn't going to say anything…"

"You're not the only observant one among us, Nadya. I've known you for less than a day and I can already guess at how much your curiosity has been eating up at you. Go ahead and ask; you have my permission."

Swaying gently for a moment, Nadya carefully considered how best to word her question without raising the man's short temper. "…Why do you wear a mask?"

Clicking his tongue in disappointment, Erik shook his head. "Come now, you and I both know there's more to it than that. Ask me what it is you _really _want to know."

Nadya bit her lip, not sure which would anger him more – telling the truth or refusing to speak all together.

"What… What happened to your face?"

"Ah, now _there_ is a question indeed!" Erik praised darkly. Even the horse behind him was growing agitated as the tall man's mood darkened and became more dramatic. "I'm afraid only God knows the answer to that, My Dear. All I can say with any certainty is that I was born with Death's face. 'The Living Corpse' they called me. It does have quite a ring to it, doesn't it? If I had a franc for every woman who fainted at the sight of me I would be so wealthy Solomon himself would blush! Shame on their husband and fathers for bringing them. Death is not a matter for the weaker sex to face so directly. But man is so morbidly curious, and where man goes so must woman."

"Why did you stay?" Nadya asked quietly, trying her best not to meet his eyes and failing miserably. What was this strange power he had over her? First she had felt compelled to follow him like some loyal hound, now like the day before his gaze was unbreakable.

"Why did I stay?" Erik laughed coldly. "Why did I stay, she asks! I lived in a cage like all the other displays," he explained curtly, and Nadya's face grew pale.

"A… A _cage_?"

"Oh yes, a cage fit to contain Death himself," Erik sneered, finally dropping Nadya's gaze. He began to walk again, leaving Nadya behind in horrified silence as he moved deeper into the forest.

After walking nearly a mile from where he had left the dark haired girl, Erik heard footsteps in the woods behind him. He continued walking and spoke without looking back. "I thought I had finally gotten rid of you."

"I'm sorry, Erik," came Nadya's voice. "I know it doesn't change what happened, and it shouldn't. I… I've actually heard of you before," she admitted carefully, and the man froze in his tracks. When he remained silent, she continued. "When I was a little girl we came across a dying man from another tribe. He told us about a spirit he called the Living Corpse, who rode on the back of a dragon and brought death to those who angered him. He said the spirit had raped one of their women murdered a man in their camp before vanishing without a trace. Soon after he left a plague fell on the camp. They all knew it was a curse brought on them by the Living Corpse. As far as I know, they all died."

Erik's head hung and his breathing changed as he took in this news. Nadya ventured forward and pulled out the small parcel of food again, standing beside him and pressing into his hand. "Whatever it is you're running from or towards, I wish you luck. We're keeping camp where it is until the moon is full; if you need a safe place to stay or grow tired of traveling alone before then, come and find us."

When Erik did not so much as look at her, Nadya nodded and began to move back the way she came. She hadn't gotten far when Erik called after her. "I didn't rape her."

Nadya looked over her shoulder to him and smiled warmly. "I know."

"What makes you so sure I'm not lying?"

"A rapist wouldn't have saved a woman from his own kind," she answered simply.

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><p>Erik couldn't be certain what kept him in the area for so many days. Normally over the course of a week he would have covered several hundred miles if not more if he kept a decent pace and rode as many hours as his horse could carry him. This week he had traveled no more than thirty or forty miles, always going back the way he had come.<p>

There was no doubting the forest was plentiful. Rabbits, roots, and mushrooms made for a filling meal, the nearby river ran clean and cool with the occasional fish large enough to eat. Erik told himself it was these things that kept him in the area. It was rare to find such a resourceful place, after all.

However, the regions many resources could not explain why Erik's mind kept wandering to the dark eyed Gypsy who had all but crashed into his life. Nadya was simple. Not to say that she was slow – quite the contrary. She was curious to a fault, with powers of observation nearly as keen as his own. She was able to see the world and accept it for what it was, and yet her spirit was as light as her graceful gait. Her face was open and honest, her eyes sharp and more lively than the wilting flowers European women were so often raised to be. Nadya was no lion, but she was no lamb either.

Though her eyes were sharp, her curves were soft and supple. The more Erik tried not to consider it, the more the sway of her hips filled his mind. Erik had always found Gypsy women intriguing, covering their legs with long, bright skirts that sat high upon the waist but showing no shame in displaying their often ample breasts under low, loosely fit blouses. In his years spent living with Gypsies, none of them had intrigued him quite as much as Nadya had in the course of a few hours.

As the week drew to an end, the great black horse threw a shoe and avoiding the nearby city became impossible. The blacksmith was not far into the city, but Erik had run out of money weeks earlier. The horse was young and strong, worth keeping a while longer; if he wasn't going to steal a new horse, Erik would have to steal the funds to pay for the repair.

The blacksmith warily agreed to be paid after his services were complete, and Erik left the horse in the man's care to venture further into the city. The sun was bright but afforded him enough shadows to avoid many of the questioning looks and suspicious whispers as he made his way down the streets, searching for any sort of crowd to wander through and relieve of their valuables.

In the town square, Erik found exactly the sort of crowd he was looking for. A handful of Nadya's tribe had set up a modest faire in the open space and the fairer Germanic townsfolk were wandering through, intrigued. One of the Gypsies gazed into a cup Erik suspected held tea leaves and foretold a man's future while her husband stood nearby selling talismans for luck, protection, and love. One man played the flute while a young girl sang charming legends of her people in her native tongue, entrancing the small crowd that had surrounded her. One of the more popular events was a dancer, writhing in the afternoon sun to the beat of a tambourine held high above her head. Men gathered around her as their fiancés and wives marveled at the jewelry one woman was selling even as she wove a needle through brightly colored glass beads.

And there seated on the ground between the young singer and jeweler was Nadya, carefully studying the palm of a young woman who sat before her, entranced. Nadya said something to the woman, who turned wide-eyed to her friend. "You told her, didn't you!"

"Don't be silly! I've been with you all day!" The other lady exclaimed, and Nadya laughed lightly.

"Fraulein, I can promise your friend isn't conspiring against you," she promised in clumsy German. The women grinned at one another in delight and dropped a coin into the wooden bowl Nadya had laid out beside her before moving off to chatter excitedly.

Erik approached the dark eyed young woman as she arranged her long skirt. "What did you tell her?"

Nadya smiled brightly when she recognized his voice and looked up to him. Erik noted it as one of the rare moments in his life anyone had seemed genuinely pleased to see him. "Erik! I thought I saw you wandering through the crowd. I simply told her she was newly engaged. She was wearing a ring worth more than my horse and smiling so broadly I could count all of her teeth. It was an easy leap," she explained. "I thought you would have been halfway to Spain by now."

"I'm traveling east, actually."

"Halfway to the Orient, then," Nadya corrected herself, patting the cobblestone beside her. "Sit and join me for a while; I'm going to break my neck looking up at you."

"I'm afraid I would frighten away your customers," he remarked, but Nadya dismissed his concern with a wave and Erik obliged.

"How long are you in town?"

"Not long. My horse is being shoed. I'll be leaving again once I can pay the blacksmith."

Nadya frowned some. "You don't have the money?" she asked in concern, and Erik shook his head, unsure of why he didn't simply lie. He doubted if her tribe was the sort to turn a blind eye to thieves and pickpockets. She studied him carefully for a moment, attempting to read his face through the mask. Finally she pulled a small leather satchel out of a fold in her skirt and held it out to him. When he hesitated, she took his hand and pressed the bag into his palm.

"I can't take money from your family, Nadya," Erik protested, although something did not seem right; if those were the funds she had earned for her family at the faire, what were the coins in the wooden bowl?

"But you can take it from these people?" she asked, gesturing to the waning crowd. "Besides, you're not taking it, I'm giving it to you. Take it and pay the blacksmith, it should be enough."

"How do you have money?" Erik demanded suddenly. "Aren't all your earnings here –"

Nadya suddenly gave him a look so hard he quickly stopped talking and looked around them to be sure none of her family had heard him before lowering his voice. "_Why_ do you have money?"

Diverting her eyes, Nadya gave Erik an answer without saying a word; she was running away.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Is the document manager being screwy for anyone else today too? Very weird.


	3. Chapter 3

"I should have known a girl with so many questions had secrets of her own," Erik accused as he walked with Nadya to the blacksmith under the setting sun.

"I should have known a man in a mask would judge me for keeping secrets," Nadya snapped in reply before looking guilty for taking such a tone. She made no attempt to apologize, however.

The odd pair walked in silence. If Nadya noticed the curious looks they were getting, she made no mention of it. Erik was surprised so many of the looks were directed at her and not simply to the man in the mask. She was just as much an outcast in this world as he was, Erik realized quietly. He had never thought of it before; the vagabonds who had kept him caged were too numerous to venture into the cities, instead setting up their shows nearby and sending in their most sultry women to advertise to the townsfolk. With her colorful skirt, untamed hair and billowing, low fit blouse Nadya stood out just as starkly as Erik did in plain clothes and a mask.

"That's why you carry food with you, isn't it? In case you decide to run."

Nadya hung her head some before speaking. "Why do you care, Erik?" She asked, genuinely curious.

"The same reason you were so inquisitive about me, I suppose."

"I'm not the one who appeared in the woods to save a stranger from two more strangers, wearing a mask no less," Nadya pointed out, looking up to him.

"That wasn't why I was in the woods. And to be entirely honest, if I had known you were a Gypsy I wouldn't have bothered at all," he countered. Nadya simply hummed and drew her eyes back on the road ahead of them. "You never answered my question."

After taking a small breath, Nadya nodded. "Yes. I used to tell myself I'd go out to harvest one day and just… keep walking. When I realized I would go hungry, I started carrying food. When I realized I would need money, I started taking coins."

"Nobody realized the money was missing?"

"No," Nadya said quietly. "We don't charge a fee at the faires. We simply ask people give us what they feel is appropriate. Sometimes it means we don't make very much at all, but other times we make far more than we would simply charging a set amount. Those are the days I take a coin or two and put it aside. I was so nervous someone would catch me, but it's impossible to know how generous people are going to be day to day, town to town."

Erik nodded his understanding, and Nadya stopped outside the blacksmith with him, smiling. It was the first time Erik had ever sensed her smile was false. "Here we are. Do you mind if I come in with you and say hello to your horse? He was incredibly beautiful."

"Nadya, I can't take your money."

"Nonsense, you need it more than I do," she insisted, and Erik pursed his lips.

"What are you running away from?" he demanded. "If someone is hurting you-"

"I could ask the same of you, Erik," Nadya countered. "Trust me, you need it more than I do. I can earn it back by the time I'll need to leave."

"You're very good at asking questions, Nadya, and you are equally good at avoiding them," Erik hissed. "What are you running from, and let me be the judge of who needs your money more."

Nadya opened her mouth as if to protest, but quickly closed it again and tightened her full lips, as if debating whether or not to answer. "Really Erik, it's nothing. It won't be anything for at least another year. I'll have plenty of time to earn the money back."

Erik stood there in silence, studying her carefully. On one hand, it felt as though this money were owed him. After all, he had worked for years for a tribe, selling his ugliness and later his other talents without seeing a single coin of what he had earned them. On the other hand, Nadya was about as different as the savages in that tribe as could possibly be. How was taking what she had earned any different than the Gypsies he had been with before taking his earnings?

When she made to move inside the shop, Erik grabbed her arm to stop her. "Your German is terrible," he announced suddenly.

A dark brow raised in confused surprised. "What?"

"Your German is wretched. Let me translate for you while you're working, and I'll teach you when you're not."

"Papa is teaching me. I thought I was doing pretty well, considering I've only been studying for a week," she mused with a disappointed frown.

"I won't take your money without doing you a service in return," Erik insisted. Nadya seemed hesitant for a long moment before nodding her agreement and moving inside the shop.

* * *

><p>"I forgot how tall he was," Nadya grinned from the back of the great black horse. Erik walked slightly ahead, and the horse followed easily without a lead. It was moving day, and the horse was as well packed with items from the camp as the troupe's horses walking ahead of them, carrying the weight and the woman on his back with ease. "What breed is he?"<p>

"Clydesdale. I believe they're from the British Isles. He's not terribly agile, but he can walk for days."

"You've been to the Isles?" She asked, voice filled with delight and envy. "I've heard it's beautiful up there."

Erik had to smile. "No, I've never been. I found him on a vineyard in Italy."

"Found him or stole him?" Nadya asked, picking up a small section of the horse's mane to braid. Though her voice was effortless, Erik could almost feel her questioning gaze on his back.

"I stole him," Erik admitted. "He was yoked to a till out in the field. I needed a horse, and he looked like he could use an adventure."

Nadya smiled and patted the horse's neck. "Well. He does seem to like you. How long were you in Italy?"

There was drawn out silence before Erik finally spoke. "Just over two years. I was training to be a stone mason there."

"A stone mason in Italy!" Nadya exclaimed. "How remarkable."

"You've been to Italy?"

"Yes. We spent over a year there, just before coming here. I thought we should have gone through again, but the woods are richer up here. Italy seems like the best place in the world to study masonry. So many beautiful buildings."

Erik nodded. "It was a wonderful opportunity, while it lasted."

"What happened?"

"I don't even have to read your palm to tell you your questions are going to get you into trouble," Erik remarked only half-heartedly.

"You're probably right," Nadya admitted with amusement. "Papa says I used to drive him mad with all my questions as a girl. 'What sort of bird is that?' 'Where are we going?' 'What does that mean?' He says if I don't know everything there is to know about the world by the time I'm old and gray, he will eat his shirt. You don't ever _have_ to answer when I ask you something."

"I haven't _had_ to do anything in years, and I never plan to again," Erik announced so boyishly that Nadya laughed heartily. The sound was beautiful and melodic, completely uninhibited by worry or care. His first instinct was to be offended, but the sheer joy he had brought forth in her quelled his anger, and even provoked a smile. After all, why should he be upset? It was so easy to forget sometimes how young he really was. Why should every moment of his life at seventeen years old be spent so seriously?

* * *

><p>The small troupe set up camp in an opening in the trees. The group was still growing used to the presence of an outsider in their camp, but Erik's willingness and ability to pull his weight when the modest family had broken down their camp and now again as they rebuilt had made his presence easier to stomach.<p>

The first night at the new camp was a celebration. The older women had been cooking since the location was chosen while the men worked setting up tents and maintaining the horses and other animals. Nadya alternated between cooking and keeping the children in the camp out of the way by laughing and playing with them. As work on the camp was drawing to a close, four of the younger children sat on a log completely engrossed as Nadya told an old folk legend of three princesses who were once kidnapped by a dragon, acting out the parts bawdily to the delight of the children. Erik caught sight of her and could not help but smile briefly before turning back to his work.

As he turned he was met with the face of Nadya's father, the youngest brother of the man who headed the family. "You saved my daughter's life, Gaje, but that does not make you one of us," the man informed Erik, his voice quietly threatening. "For what you have done you are welcome here so long as you continue to work well, but do not ever think you will be privileged enough to have her."

"Sir-" Erik began to protest, but the man interrupted.

"Whatever it is you have to say, I do not want to hear it. I am merely warning you, for our own good and for yours. She is Roma and will marry Roma. You are a good boy with a good head on your shoulders. Stay that way and we will all be fine."

Unsure of how to respond, Erik simply nodded as the man clasped his shoulder and moved off, leaving the masked man speechless.

Dinner was served at sundown, and that night the wine flowed freely. Music and song filled the woods as women danced and their husbands cheered. Erik sat off on his own as he usually did, content to watch the festivities from afar. When a hand slipped over his eyes, Erik grabbed the adjoining wrist so viciously its owner yelped in pain and surprise.

"Ow! Erik, let me go!" Nadya protested, and Erik immediately dropped her wrist.

"You mustn't _ever_ touch my face!" He lamented, the anger in his voice drawing looks from the group closer to the fire.

"Calm yourself, I was only playing," she scolded, shaking out her wrist and handing him a goblet filled with wine. "Here."

"I think you've had about enough of these for both of us," Erik accused gently, putting the glass aside.

Nadya reached over him to fetch the cup and brought it to her lips to drink from it fully. "Suit yourself!"

Apparently already forgiven for his force, Erik looked upon her in amusement as she drank. "How many glasses have you had?"

"I lost track!" She admitted gleefully, finishing the glass and standing. Her large pupils darkened her eyes even further, and the warmth of her cheeks turned her tanned flesh slightly pink. Why was it after her father's warning earlier that day the only think Erik could think to notice was how striking the young woman was? "Have you finished eating?"

"Yes. Why?" Erik asked cautiously, and Nadya grinned broadly.

"Dance with me then!"

Erik half snorted in amusement. When Nadya pouted at his response, his enjoyment instantly vanished. "Dear God, you're serious."

"Of course I'm serious! You're my very best friend; if you won't dance with me who will?" She argued, holding out her hands for him to take.

There was no denying a friendship had developed between the pair during the passing weeks. For reasons God Himself could only guess at, Nadya found Erik intriguing. More often than not the young woman seemed oblivious to his eccentricities. She looked him square in the eyes in spite of the mask upon his face, and more often than not laughed off his rude remarks or confronted them with simple reprimands that always left him feeling somewhat guilty for having said them at all. She was as unafraid to laugh at him as she was to laugh at herself, and while Erik was beginning to suspect her bright and uplifting behavior was neither as organic nor as easy as she made it appear, he found it charming nevertheless. No matter what her secrets were, her ability to lose herself in the present was admirable, even enviable.

Erik had never considered what their comradery might mean until that moment. He had never had a friend before, and he was beginning to suspect neither had Nadya. She had grown up surrounded by family, new people coming into her life only when a brother or cousin or uncle married and brought in a bride. Conversely, women left her life as soon as they were married and joined another tribe. It was possible that in spite of being surrounded by people her whole life she was nearly as lonely as he was.

When Nadya's pout increased, Erik pursed his lips some. "I don't know how to dance, Nadya."

"Nonsense! If _I_ can dance I'm certain you can," she insisted, finally reaching down and grabbing Erik's hands to pull him to his feet.

"You're drunk," he tried again as one song ended and a more languid one began, the night winding down as the campfire died.

"Dance with me, or I will never speak with you again," she threatened teasingly.

"Is that a promise?" Erik teased back, earning him a grin. With that smile, Erik knew he had no choice but to dance. Nadya stepped into his arms and arranged them around her for the ballad. Erik prayed silently that she could not hear how hard and fast his heart was beating as she rested her head against his chest.

"If you lower your hands one inch I will chop them off," she threatened emptily. "Just move with the music," she instructed. Erik did as he was told, and somehow began to move without crushing his partner's bare feet. "What did my father say to you earlier?" Nadya ventured as they swayed, never looking up at him.

Erik was uncomfortably quiet for a long moment. "He told me that I was welcome, but not to get too comfortable here."

"It was about me, wasn't it?"

"…Yes," Erik admitted quietly, heart still racing. He had never been so close to a woman before. Her hair smelled like grass and earth… "He reminded me that you are Roma and will marry Roma."

Nadya's eyes widened then and she looked up at him in alarm. "He told you about Yoska?"

The whistles and whoops from the fire alerted Erik to the fact the music had stopped and Nadya was still in his arms. The group laughed merrily as Erik quickly stepped away, unable to meet Nadya's eyes any longer. Before Nadya knew what was happening the masked man had retreated into the woods, and Nadya was left standing alone, biting the inside of her cheeks so hard she tasted blood.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Two chapters in one day! Go me! It's mostly due to the fact I didn't want this last scene in my head while I go on a brief road trip tomorrow, so don't expect this all the time.


	4. Chapter 4

Nadya walked for nearly an hour, using an old oil lantern to light her way. Tracking had never been one of her strong suits, and hunting down a man who had spent much of his life avoiding being found was proving to be an impossible task.

When she reached a clearing in the trees and saw nothing, Nadya sighed in frustration and sat against a tree. The cool night air had cleared her head some, but instead of improving her mood the sobriety had only served to increase her anxiety. Erik was gone, and Nadya knew in her heart he would never return. He was stubborn and prideful, and though she had never lied to him about her engagement she had admittedly avoided telling him for reasons she couldn't quite understand herself.

"Go back to your camp, Gypsy," commanded Erik's voice from directly over her shoulder so suddenly Nadya started visibly before scrambling to her feet. When she turned towards the voice, she was surprised to find nothing but trees illuminated by the lantern by her feet.

"Where are you, Erik?"

"Nowhere that is of any concern to you," Erik's voice sneered from the clearing behind her. Nadya picked up the lantern and turned, brow knit in confusion when once again the light fell on nothing but trees and soil. "Go back to your camp," the voice commanded again. Nadya was certain the voice was coming just in front of her, but as she ventured into the center of the clearing there was still no trace of her masked friend.

"How are you doing that?"

"I'm not going to answer any more of your God damned questions!" Erik barked, and Nadya tensed some at the viciousness of his tone of his voice. "Go back now. I won't give you another chance."

Nadya tightened her jaw and set down the lantern, making it clear to her unseen observer that she had no intention of obeying. "At least let me say what I came to tell you. I should have told you about Yoska. I do everything I can to forget he even exists."

The disembodied voice chuckled cruelly, surrounding her mockingly. Nadya held herself uncomfortably, still searching for the familiar image of her friend. "All right, I'll play along. Why are you trying to forget your fiancé?"

"This isn't a game, Erik. My father arranged the marriage. I have no interest in being the wife of a horse breeder fifteen years my senior. I last saw him twelve years ago; I was only five years old and he was already a man!" She lamented in frustration that went beyond simply being unable to see who she was speaking with. "He's the reason I want to run away. I should have left a year ago when I found out about the engagement over a year ago, but I just… couldn't. I still can't. I've made so many excuses, but when it comes right down to it I'm simply too afraid. The world is so big and I'm so small," she managed, wiping tears from her eyes with the palms of her hand. "You want to know why I am so fascinated with you? It is because I envy you, Erik. You're not afraid to be alone if it means you get to be free."

Her confession was met with silence. So much time passed Nadya thought Erik must have left, and she hung her head some before laughing quietly to herself. She deserved to be left alone, she knew. She never should have expected Erik to listen, let alone sympathize with her. Here she was complaining about an arranged marriage to a man without a face, for goodness sake! Erik must have thought she was mad, envying him. He had been through hell and back, there was no doubt about it. She only knew a fraction of his story from observing him and listening to his confessions, and that was bad enough. Perhaps she was mad.

Nadya wiped at her eyes for a final time before picking up the lantern and turning back to leave the clearing the way she had come. When she did so, she caught sight of the masked man seated in a tree, watching her with those eyes like stars against the night. She stood and looked up at him, willing him to say anything at all before nodding to herself. "I'll bring your horse here tomorrow," she said. Only Erik's voice stopped her from continuing into the woods.

"Come with me."

Erik's words were so unexpected, for a moment Nadya thought maybe she hadn't heard them at all. "I'm sorry?"

"Come with me," he said again. This time Nadya was certain of his words, and she furrowed her brow.

"I can't, Erik."

"Why not?" Erik asked, moving down from the tree with feline grace.

"Did you not hear a word of what I've said? I think about running off, but it is never going to happen, Erik. I'm too afraid –"

"Of being alone," Erik finished for her. "I heard you. You're alone here, Nadya," he announced. When Nadya looked confused by his statement, he continued. "You may be surrounded by people, but you have no connections with any of them, even your father. Any father who truly loved his daughter would never marry her off to a man nearly twice her age. How many people have you told about your anxiety about the marriage?"

Nadya pursed her lips some thoughtfully. "Only you."

"How many of them know anything about you at all, Nadya? Your mother, where is she?"

"She died, almost five years ago now. But what –"

"Did you love her?" Erik interrupting, earning him a hard look from those piercing dark eyes.

"Of course I did, she was my mother!"

Erik held up his hand in an attempt to calm her. "So you must have been upset when she died. Who comforted you?"

Nadya opened her mouth as if to say something in response, but a quiet realization swept over her and she closed her mouth and stared into the dirt before finally answering. "No one. Not really. Everyone was there and everyone mourned, but I was alone."

"You're different than they are," Erik concluded, watching her as she watched the ground. "You're smarter and kinder. They don't need depth for contentment like you do. You are questioning to a fault, but it is because of an emptiness in your heart more than in your head."

There was a long period of silence as Nadya attempted to find something, anything to say in response. "How are you so sure of all this?" She finally managed, looking up to the masked man.

"I know you study people as much as you study their palms. I do the same," he explained gently. "I don't mean this as an insult, but as an incontrovertible truth – I see more of myself in you than I care to."

"That is no insult, Erik."

Ignoring her statement, Erik continued. "The difference between us is there is hope for you, but it isn't here. You were right to want to run. Not all cages have bars. Cages come in the form of ugliness, genius, talent, traditions, husbands, fear" he seethed.

"But hope is with you?" She asked with a raised brow, and Erik shook his head.

"With no hope for me there can be little hope _with_ me. I can serve as a guide as you step into the void. When you find your feet, you can continue on your own."

Nadya was silent for a long while as she considered his offer. She no reason to trust this man. His temper was short at best. Just that night he had run off into the woods for reasons that were not entirely clear. What if he were to become angry with her and run off as they traveled, leaving her alone?

But considering the alternative, was that really so bad?

"All right. But I would like a week, if that's all right. If you can't do that I understand –"

"A week is fine," Erik promised, moving to take the lantern and make the journey back to camp.

* * *

><p>"How were you able to do that trick out in the woods?" Nadya asked, sitting on the lip of the fountain in the town's square with a small sign Erik had made advertising her talents in German. Her speech was improving rapidly, but she could not read or write in her own language let alone in one potential customers would understand.<p>

"What trick?" He asked innocently standing beside her. The rest of the modest faire was spread out around them, attracting the first of the morning's townsfolk.

Nadya grinned up to him from her seat. "You know the one! Your voice came from someplace you weren't."

"Möchten sie ihre zukunft, mein Herr wissen?" Erik asked a passing gentleman, who held up his hand in decline to having his fortune told. When he returned his attention to the young woman, Nadya's expectant gaze left him no choice but to answer. "It's called ventriloquism. I can throw my voice to anywhere within a certain range. I can also mimic nearly anyone's voice," he added, bragging boyishly.

The young woman's grin widened. "I've never heard of such a thing!"

"Where are you from? What did you do there? Why do you wear a mask? What was that trick in the forest?" Erik asked in a perfect imitation of Nadya's voice and inflections, causing her jaw to drop in astonishment.

"That is incredible! Where did you learn that?"

"You have customers," Erik announced with amusement, guiding her attention to a young couple as they approached. "Don't forget to address them formally. And remember your genders."

"Yes _mother_," Nadya teased, greeting the young couple with a bright smile. Her German was still thickly accented, but Erik was pleased with the growing ease of her flow of speech as she delved into their past and foretold their future. The astonishment on their faces at the accuracy of Nadya's reading of their pasts and personalities, and the happy things she described for their futures left the pair delighted.

"You're very good!" The lady exclaimed, "And so beautiful. I'll bet your husband has to beat men off you with a stick," she remarked, looking up to the masked man pleasantly. Nadya's sun darkened skin flushed across her face as she looked up to Erik as well.

"Oh, Erik isn't my husband," she explained.

"Just the man she's going to run away with at the end of the week," Erik elaborated as though it were nothing at all, earning him a hard look from Nadya and a look of surprise from the German couple.

The pair moved off to inspect the rest of the faire, and Nadya leaned over to smack at the masked man's leg. "What did I ever do to you?"

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Well yes, but the way you said it made it seem as though we're going to elope!" Nadya lamented, causing Erik to fall quiet. Nadya glanced at him and frowned gently. "Did I say something wrong?"

Erik remained silent as Nadya's eyes bore into him, begging him to say anything at all. "I didn't mean anything by it, Erik," she finally said in an effort to break the silence. "I only meant –"

"I killed a girl in Italy," he finally managed, leaving Nadya speechless. "We may not be eloping, but I still ought to have told you before you agreed to travel with me."

Nadya's eyes drove into him so deeply Erik could not meet them. She attempted to search his eyes for any sign of a lie, studying what little could be seen of his face and his frame, her mind searching for an explanation. It was one thing to kill a man, especially one who had so clearly meant to do harm to another person. A man who had been warned of what his fate would be if he did not leave… but to kill a woman? A girl no less…

"I… What happened?" Nadya finally managed. There must be some explanation, anything to even begin to justify the death.

"Her father was a master mason, the man I studied under while I was in Rome. She was… I don't know that I can even describe her. She was curious to a fault, but in a different way than you are. You have a way about you that encourages answers to your questions. Luciana was far more forceful. As though answers were her right, not a privilege. I was fascinated and repulsed by her, as was she of me. Her repulsion ultimately lead to her death."

There was a long period of silence as Nadya tried to digest the explanation. "You… You killed her for being repulsed by you?"

Erik opened his mouth as if to protest before hanging his head some. It was moments like this that made Nadya so unsure of his age. More often than not he seemed older than her, far more reserved and composed than the men she had met of her age. And then there were times like this where he seemed little more than an overgrown child, merely playing at adulthood. "Yes, in a way I did. She had demanded that I remove my mask and show her my face. I think… I think she believed I was handsome behind the mask. That I wore it to allure girls like her. Where she got this idea I will never know, and I suppose it doesn't matter. She was so forceful with her demands, and her father was as wrapped around her fingers as I was then. He seconded her demand, and I obeyed. She was so disgusted by me that she began to back away. I advanced on her in fury, and she backed all the way against the stone railing of the balcony on which we stood. The masonry gave way, and she fell."

When the silence that had once again fallen between them stretched on, Erik's jaw tightened some and he began to move off. Before he could take a full step, a hand took hold of his arm to halt him. Nadya was standing now, eyes searching him as imploringly as ever before she glanced around them to be certain no one who could understand her was able to hear. "How many people have you killed, Erik?"

"Four."

"And the others were like the man you killed when I met you? Violent?" She asked, and when Erik nodded his answer without meeting her eyes, Nadya continued. "You may blame yourself for that girl's death, Erik, but I don't. If your offer still stands, I would still like to leave with you."

"But I-"

"You did not push her over the rail. You said it yourself; it fell out from behind her. It might have been your face that frightened her, but it was her own wish to see it. Fate took care of the rest," Nadya explained, squeezing his arm some in an attempt to comfort. At the sight of her father entering the faire and glancing over to them, Nadya quickly dropped Erik's arm and smiled pleasantly before sitting again by her sign. Erik glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of the man's hard look and quickly caught on, turning to address a pair of women.

"Wollen Sie Ihre Zukunft wissen, meine Damen?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> SexyKnickers – I thought I had mentioned Erik is about seventeen in the last chapter, but I hope this clarifies things. Given he's seventeen this takes place approximately 30 years before The Disaster in Leroux's novel, and who knows how long in Weber's world since his back story for Erik is dramatically different than the novel's.

To any German speakers out there - my German is atrocious, I know. I'm self taught, so please cut me some slack. XD If you know the proper way to say what I was getting at, please let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

Yoska was shorter than she remembered, but she supposed everyone seemed tall in the world of a five year old. He was well built with strong features, wealthier than any of the men in her family due to the desirability of the horses he bread by Roma and Europeans alike.

The members of her new husband's troupe were delighted with Yoska's choice in bride and happily accepted her into their group in spite of her eccentricity. They were a collection of families who worked with their hands. Blacksmiths, leather workers, weavers and horsemen; not people of the old ways as Nadya's family had been. They knew little of the legends of their people and nothing at all of magic, alchemy, or art. They were good, simple people.

So why was she so morose? Her wedding day should have been a day to celebrate. Instead she was laying in bed, as exhausted by pretending to smile as she was from the day's festivities. The celebration between their troupes had lasted all day and long into the night, with the wine flowing freely, although no amount of wine would erase the events of the day. As soon as Yoska came into their bed the union would be consummated, and Nadya would be the wife of a complete stranger.

A shadow passed by the side of the tent, drawing her attention. The figure was taller and leaner than her new husband, and walked more gracefully towards the entrance of the tent than Nadya thought Yoska was capable of. The owner of the shadow slipped inside the tent and made certain the entrance was closed behind him.

"Erik!" She exclaimed, and the masked man put a finger to his lips to urge her to be quiet even as she sat up in excitement. His movements were calm and deliberate as he approached the bed, eyes never leaving hers. Not for the first time Nadya found herself ensnared in his gaze, unable and unwilling to glance away as he moved easily over her. Gently he kissed her calf, a part of her body that he should never have been allowed to see let alone touch so intimately. Nadya's skin pricked as Erik's hands found the hem of her night dress and slipped beneath it, wandering up her thighs and belly and pulling the gown up as he went. Her heart began to beat wildly against her ribs as she sat up and lifted her arms to allow him to pull the gown over her head.

For a long moment he sat before her, admiring her form as though she were a work of art. Once again his hands began to roam her body, causing every hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. He watched her respond, studying her every quiver intently. She was naked before him, yet Nadya felt no sense of shame, no embarrassment at all. On the contrary; the way Erik gazed upon her made her feel more beautiful than any woman who had ever lived.

Wordlessly he claimed her lips, and pressed her gently back down onto the bed. Nadya obeyed, and slowly his lips began to trail down her body. Everywhere his lips touched burst into flames, her whole body responding as he kissed down her neck, breasts, and belly. She longed to feel his weight on top of her, to melt against him until they became one and the same. When her longing for him grew nearly unbearable, Erik pressed firmly against her and staked his claim over the woman who should have been his bride.

"You are _mine_."

* * *

><p>Nadya sat bolt upright where she lay by the fire under the stars. It had all been a dream. There were no festivities, no wedding beds… only a fire and her small family arranged around it, enjoying the unseasonably warm autumn night out in the open. She should have known it was a dream all along. What a ridiculous premise, making love to a man who was not her husband, on her wedding night no less! She could remember no sense of wrongness about it, not a shred of anxiety or guilt. No worry that they would be caught. In fact, making love with Erik had been the most natural feeling part of the dream, she mused. A bizarre dream indeed!<p>

Yet it had felt so real had the subject matter been any different she might have thought it a premonition.

A pair of male voices were whispering intensely somewhere nearby, causing Nadya's to frown some curiously. At this late hour, the camp ought to have been silent but for the gentle crackle of the fire. Glancing around, she noticed the mat and blanket she had brought for Erik to sleep on were disheveled and empty and her frown deepened. Something was wrong.

Nadya stood and made her way to the voices. Her heart sank when she noticed her father's tent was lit from within, and a pair of familiar silhouettes stood facing each other.

"If you are not fifty miles away from here by sunup I will put a bounty out on your head," Nadya's father threatened, pointing behind him to emphasize his point.

"I was invited into this camp by your daughter, Sir, and I will not leave –"

"My daughter? Ha! If we kept every pitiful thing my daughter picked up out of the dirt, I could open a menagerie!"

"If I am nothing more than the product of her charitable nature, why are you so threatened by me?" Erik hissed, looming over the man. "I've seen you watching us since I returned."

"Of course I have!" The Roma man snapped, standing firm. "A bird with a broken wing cannot ruin my little girl!"

"Nobody is ruining me, Papa!" Nadya exclaimed, finally stepping into the tent.

Her father folded his arms over his chest and Erik turned to face her. "Nadya, go back outside," the masked man commanded. Nadya flushed some involuntarily at the sight of him, the memory of her dream still fresh, but she quickly composed herself and did not move

"I've seen the way the two of you carry on!" The Roma accused, pointing at Erik. "If he hasn't robbed you of your worth yet he certainly means to."

"You're wrong, Papa! Erik is the only friend I've had. He's been nothing but a gentleman!" Nadya defended.

"A man who spends all his time alone with a woman is either a lothario or a homosexual!"

Erik growled and seemed to grow even taller. Nadya quickly grabbed his arm in an attempt to assuage his anger.

"Papa please, be civil."

"I want him as far away from you as possible by sunrise, and as soon as your aunts are awake they are going to examine you. God help you both if you are no longer a virgin!"

Nadya pursed her lips tightly and looked up to the masked man, who was visibly attempting to keep a reign on his temper. "I am leaving with Erik when he goes. I had hoped to stay through the week so that you could see he is a decent man and means me no harm, but if you say he must leave tonight then so must I."

The Roma man's eyes widened considerably. "No. You are not leaving, Nadya, you do not have my consent."

"You didn't have _my_ consent when you agreed to marry me off to a man twice my age!" Nadya snapped before she realized her words and her tone. The blow fell so suddenly Nadya was not quite certain what had happened. When her vision cleared she was on the floor, the left side of her face on fire as the taste of blood filled her mouth. When she finally drew herself back onto her feet, Erik had fallen upon the older man like cat on his prey and pinned the furious man to the floor.

"Touch her again and I'll break your neck!" Erik snarled. Shouts began from outside as the camp began to realize there was trouble brewing in the tent. A pair of men rushed into the tent and upon seeing the masked man on their cousin quickly took action. Erik fought the men viciously, but with the aid of a third man was torn from Nadya's father and held away in spite of his thrashing.

Nadya's father pulled himself off the ground, bleeding from his mouth and nose. Nadya watched in horror as he approached the masked man. A swift blow struck Erik just below the ribs and he doubled over, winded. The Roma man spat blood in Erik's face, chest heaving. When his hand reached out to rip Erik's mask away, Nadya yelped.

"He's the Living Corpse! The one from the legend!"

The entire room fell silent and turned to gaze at Nadya. One of the men snorted uncomfortably. "Stupid girl. That is only a fairytale, a legend to keep children in line."

Nadya shook her head frantically. "No, it isn't. Why do you think he wears a mask? Everyone who looks on his face is cursed!" She exclaimed, and her father hesitated some.

"How do you know this? How do I know you aren't lying?"

"I was attacked by two men in the forest," she said, thinking as quickly as she could with her head still throbbing. "He took off his mask and as soon as the men looked on him they collapsed, dead. I saw it happen, Papa. And I've heard the dragon he rides, in the woods. Haven't you?"

"We did hear something strange when we were hunting last night," one of the men announced, and the others murmured their agreement.

"The last troupe that dared cross me died within the month," Erik announced, catching on. "If you let us go in peace I may be benevolent and spare you. If I am right, you've seen for yourselves the destruction I can do. Did you not find a man I had cursed once before?"

"That was nearly ten years ago! You would have been but a child!"

Erik laughed ominously and the sound sank over the entire room like a heavy fog, sending chills up Nadya's spine. Immediately the men who contained Erik stepped back as though he had become hot to the touch. "I am old and young, ancient and new, life and death," he said simply, his voice filling the room and turning the air thick in the silence that followed.

Finally, Nadya's father spoke. "Nadya, you are banished from this community, and every other tribe of the Roma people. Leave tonight, and take nothing with you but the clothes on your back," he murmured. Nadya's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded and quickly excused herself from the presence of the men who had once been her family.

* * *

><p>Erik found the girl out in the woods, seated against a large tree. She was holding her knees against her chest, her chin settled neatly upon them as she stared off into nothingness. If she heard him approaching on the back of the great black horse, she gave no acknowledgement of it. Her lip was already beginning to swell and the normally smooth, tanned skin under her eye was darkening. No doubt it would be painful in the morning.<p>

"Has he hit you before?"

Nadya was quiet for so long Erik wasn't quite sure if he had been heard. She touched her face some and immediately withdrew her hand with a flinch. "No. I don't remember ever seeing him so angry."

"He shouldn't have done that."

Finally Nadya looked up to him with tears in her eyes. "What am I going to do, Erik? I didn't expect him to take the news well, but I never thought… I never thought it would be like that. I always thought I would be able to come back if I needed to, but now… Now I'm all alone and I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she whispered, looking away to wipe at her eyes and wincing sharply as he palm touched her darkened eye.

Erik dismounted and moved into the saddlebag. Nadya watched as he removed a mortar and pestle and added to it a handful of herbs from a leather satchel. He ground them together with a small amount of water before approaching her and offering down the mortar. Nadya regarded it curiously, and Erik crouched to take her hand and pressed the bowl into it. "Drink it. It's thick and won't taste very good, but it will help with the pain."

"What is it?" She asked, accepting it and drinking the pasty mixture in one swallow before making a face. "It tastes like dirt and peppermint."

Erik took the bowl back with a small smile. "Willow bark and peppermint, but close enough. I usually make a tea of it, but given the circumstances this will do."

"Will it really help with the pain?" She asked curiously, which Erik took as a sign of improvement.

"Yes," he promised, moving back to the horse to wash out the mortar and put it away.

"Where did you learn to make potions?" Nadya asked, standing and wrapping her arms around herself.

"With the troupe of gypsies I cursed with the sight of my face," Erik replied, without looking back at her. "Thank you for doing that."

"I had to," she murmured in response. "I don't know what they would have done if they had seen your face. You're not mad that I told them?"

Erik shook his head. "No. I don't know what I would have done if they had seen my face either." Or if you had, he thought to himself. "How does your head feel?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Better," Nadya promised, truthfully. "You are a man of so many talents. You can read and write, you speak German and Romani, you can manipulate your voice. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Glance in a mirror," Erik admitted quietly. "Feel the sun on my face." Know the touch of a woman. Live and work like a normal man.

Nadya frowned some and Erik immediately regretted answering. He mounted the horse again and held down his hand to pull Nadya up behind him. "You had a strange look on your face when you came into the tent today," Erik commented as the horse began to walk.

Nadya flushed deeply and did not answer until Erik glanced back at her curiously. She opened her mouth to answer and then paused to consider her words for a moment. "Do you promise not to laugh?"

"No," Erik admitted. "But explain."

"I… I had a dream about you."

Erik raised a brow under the mask and continued forward. "A good dream or a bad dream?"

"Where in the orient are we headed?" Nadya asked in a feeble attempt to alleviate her embarrassment.

"Was it a good dream or a bad dream?" Erik asked again, the amusement evident in his voice.

There was another moment of silence from behind him before Nadya answered, tentatively. "A good dream. Erik, can't we talk about something else?"

"Now you've piqued my curiosity. What was the dream about?"

"You really don't want to hear about my silly dream," Nadya dismissed. Erik glanced at her expectantly, and Nadya huffed some before answering. "Fine. We had sex. Are you quite through?"


	6. Chapter 6

The pair sat quietly around the modest fire, sipping at a quickly made broth of rabbit and wild roots. The silence had been bearable when they were riding, but now that they had nothing to do but tend to the fire it was quickly becoming painful. Nadya spooned more of the broth into her bowl, and decided to break the quiet.

"Let me fill your bowl," she offered, but Erik held out his hand in decline. Nadya frowned gently. "We haven't eaten all day, you can't possibly be full."

"You're acting awfully maternal considering you were imagining us in bed –"

Nadya rolled her eyes and sat back down with a small huff. "It was only a dream, Erik."

Erik merely hummed his displeasure, and Nadya threw him a hard look over her bowl as she drank. "Are you going to be like this until we reach the Orient?" She demanded. "It was only a dream; what has you in such a foul mood?"

"I don't appreciate being mocked," Erik snapped, and Nadya raised a brow at him as he stood.

"What gave you the impression I was mocking you? I was telling the truth."

The masked man scoffed and used a flask of water from the saddle bag on the ground by the horse to rinse out his bowl before tucking it neatly away without saying a word. "You don't believe me," Nadya accused with a frown.

"Why should I believe you?" Erik spat, turning to face her again though staying well away from the fire by which she sat. "Why would you ever dream you and I were intimate, and why in God's name would that ever be a good thing to dream?"

"That's a ridiculous question, Erik," Nadya countered. "When has a dream ever made sense? The entire thing was bizarre, that doesn't change the fact that it happened."

"The entire thing? What else was there, a waltz? Dinner and a night at the Opera?" Erik scoffed.

"You know I've never waltzed or gone to the Opera, don't be so flippant," Nadya chided.

Erik folded his arms some, leaning back against the dark horse. "You've never had sex either; or is that another secret you've been keeping?"

"Would you just… stop _attacking_ me for one minute so I can explain? It might make you feel a little better," Nadya offered, pausing and waiting for him to continue his verbal assault. Erik pursed his lips and gestured somewhat sardonically for her to continue. "Thank you. No, I haven't had sex but you know perfectly well the Roma people aren't as shy about it as most Europeans are. And anyway, you didn't start out in my dream."

When Erik opened his mouth to speak, Nadya held up her hand. "Wait until I'm finished before you start at it again, won't you? When I've said my piece you can judge me to your heart's content," she promised, pausing again. When Erik remained quiet, albeit jaw tightened begrudgingly, she continued. "Most of the dream was my wedding to Yoska. Preparing for the ceremony, the ceremony itself, the festivities and whatnot afterwards. I remember thinking it felt more like a funeral than a marriage, at least to me anyway. Everyone else was having a good time though, so I smiled and danced and tried to keep my mind on the festivities instead of brooding about the future. I got tired and told my husband as much. He sent me to bed and said he would join me once he was through talking with the group of men that had surrounded him," Nadya explained.

After pausing a moment to collect her thoughts, she pressed on. "I went into our tent and changed, and as soon as I realized what was going to happen I became so anxious I wasn't tired anymore. I knew Yoska would be in to consummate the marriage before long… and that would be that. I would be the wife of a horse breeder, nothing more than the healthy young mare he wanted to breed with to produce desirable offspring of his own… but then a shadow rounded the side of the tent, and it was you who came in, not Yoska. I was surprised and said your name, but you hushed me and never said a word until we were together. I don't know why, but it suddenly felt as if you were the one I had married that day. It was right that you were there and not Yoska."

For a long while the only sound in the small camp was that of the dying fire. Erik was a statue against the horse until Nadya pursed her lips some at his lack of response and looked away, standing and pulling her shawl around her shoulders as she placed another small branch upon the fire. He moved around the horse reached into the other bag, withdrawing a blanket and carrying it back to the fire. Sitting beside her, Erik held out the blanket, ignoring her prying gaze as she accepted the modest peace offering.

"Thank you," she murmured, wrapping the blanket around herself and turning her gaze back to the fire.

"…Do you really consider me a better alternative to Yoska?" Erik ventured tentatively, clearly unsure whether or not he wanted to know the answer.

"Yes," Nadya replied without a moment's hesitation, glancing back over to him. "And to quite a few other men my father had in mind for me."

"You haven't known me that long. A month, two at the most," Erik countered, and Nadya nodded.

"I know. But I know you better than I knew any of them. Really Erik, you think so little of yourself. There are times you are such a child. And before you go barking at me again, I don't mean it as an insult or mockery, or whatever it is you're scheming to accuse me of," she added quickly. "You're just… so confident at times and so self loathing at others, I don't understand it."

Erik had nothing to say in response, and simply stared into the fire. The quiet was more comfortable than it had been all day, which Nadya considered a step forward. She pulled the blanket tighter around her as the night began to cool, and to her surprise Erik stood and offered his hand down to her to help her to her feet. "What's going on?"

"Leave the blanket," he said, taking it from around her shoulders and folding it to place down by the fire.

"We're not traveling this late, are we?" She following Erik to the horse.

"We'll be back. I want to show you something."

They rode a short distance into a town Nadya had not realized even existed. How Erik had known it was so close she had no idea, for she was relatively certain the area was as new to him as it was to her and she had not once seen him read a map. Erik dismounted outside of an old stone church that was as dark inside as the rest of the sleepy village and helped the dark haired young woman off the back of the tall beast before moving towards the massive wooden doors of the building.

Erik picked lock on the doors with such ease that it might have been ornamental and slipped inside. When Nadya had entered behind him he closed the doors, moving down the aisle between the rows of pews towards the altar. Nadya remained by the doors, taking in the sight. She had seen the outsides of churches before, with their stained glass paintings of figures she recognized from stories and legends, but to be inside was a completely new experience. The moon was nearly fully and hazy light illuminated the windows beautifully, casting shadows that were both stunning and a little frightening into the room. Even Erik's normally silent footsteps seemed to echo through the building, causing Nadya to frown.

"What if someone hears us? Are we allowed in here so late?"

Erik shrugged gracefully and turned just before reaching the altar to sit at bench in front of a bizarre arrangement of keys and pipes that seemed to consume the entire wall. The masked man seemed to transform before her eyes as he sat, as though sitting before the instrument were even more natural than breathing. His hands rested over the keys for a brief moment before they began to dance along the keys, drawing forth music that vibrated the whole of the building. Every rib in Nadya's chest quaked as the music filled every inch of space in the church; the sound was more rich and beautiful than anything she had ever heard. It was spiritual, ethereal even. Nadya was sure music like that must have come straight from Heaven itself, for there was simply no other explanation for the way it took over her body and spilled into her soul.

The music went on and on for what must have been a decade, shaking her to the core until at last the music ceased. Nadya sat, her legs suddenly weak without that striking sound to keep her on her feet. "What… what was that?"

"I composed it myself, originally for a piano. I discovered a pipe organ like this one in my local church and adapted it," Erik explained, still seated at the hulking instrument. He was smiling some when he looked to her, though Nadya thought it seemed sad. "I imagine I looked a lot like you do right now when I first heard it. The pipe organ is a uniquely powerful instrument."

"_You_ wrote that?" Nadya finally managed in surprise. "Erik, that was… absolutely beautiful. If heaven were a sound, that song would be it."

"You're easily impressed," he remarked, finally rising to his feet again. "I was six years old when I adapted it to the pipe organ. Come along, the deacon will be by soon to investigate."

Erik walked back down the aisle past where Nadya sat, though it was another moment still before she could rise to her feet and follow him, awestruck. "You were _six_ when you wrote it?"

"No. I was four, I was six when I first laid hands on a pipe organ," he corrected, slipping out of the building and making his way back to the horse, pulling Nadya up behind him.

"How is that possible?" She asked as they rode back into the woods, brow furrowed curiously. "I can barely remember being six, but I'm certain I never did anything as wonderful as that."

"You're not the first person to ask that question, and I'm afraid I have no answer. The people I was more or less raised by seemed convinced it was either the work of God or the work of the Devil. Naturally from then on I was raised on scripture, psalms, and masses."

Nadya frowned thoughtfully, and before long they reached the small fire. Erik dismounted and helped Nadya to her feet before moving to stoke the fire and sit once again, offering up the blanket she had left behind. Nadya accepted it gratefully and sat beside him. "I don't understand. Why are you traveling, then? I don't know much about psalms and mass, but what you just played was the most beautiful music I've ever heard."

Erik seemed to know she would ask, for he did not hesitate a moment in answering. "Because I developed too many great talents at far too young an age, and because I was born with the face of a monster. A child as young as I was should have barely been able to write his own name. I refused to write, but I was sketching architectural works and composing four hour masses all without tutelage. I still cannot explain how it happens. The music… it fills my head at all hours of the day. When I was a boy it was harder to ignore. I simply had to get it out of my head and into the room or onto paper or it felt as though I would die. The same with many of the architectural designs. I often dream of buildings, though they don't plague me like the music did."

"That doesn't explain why your name isn't famous across Europe. Aren't talented young people celebrated? What was the boy's name… Mozart?"

"Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He was talented from a very young age as well, but his circumstances were quite different. He was never quite handsome, but he was never so ugly as I am," Erik explained, and Nadya pursed her lips some. "I ran away from home when I was eight years old, when some boys from the village killed my dog and nearly killed me. I had suspected it for some time, but that night was when I realized no matter how talented I was and no matter how much I wanted to continue learning and exploring my talents, I would never succeed. Those boys and others like them would grow up as my peers and would continue to hate me on principle. It was better for everyone that I simply vanished."

Nadya had nothing to say in response. His story made her sad and angry all at once. She had known Erik was bright and talented very shortly after meeting him, and every day his talents became more and more apparent. She knew what it was liked to be hated for appearances. It was a reality she had experienced firsthand on more than one occasion… but she had always been hated in a group. As far as she knew, she had never been targeted for something specific to her. She had people to protect her and people to lean on whenever something happened. Erik did not have that support.

"Go to sleep," Erik finally murmured. "We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Erik? I'm sorry you have to live like this. You deserve more than sleeping in the dirt under the stars," she told him, laying down where she sat and adjusting the blanket over her. She hadn't realized how exhausted she could be from an entire day on horseback, but as soon as her head rested against her arms her eyelids felt heavy and her breathing deepened. She was asleep before she even noticed Erik watching her with quiet adoration.

"I could say the same of you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This might wind up being the only chapter this week. I have two papers and a midterm all due Monday of next week, on top of wrapping up my research project. But hey, it's almost over! One month from today I'll be 'graduating', and after one last summer class I'll be free as a bird! I'll have all the time in the world to write then! :D


	7. Chapter 7

Three weeks after leaving her family, the pair had begun venturing into cities to earn some money for food as the winter began close in and the land offered less. Nadya was delighted with the results; it was more difficult to draw in patrons without the appeal of a faire, but any money she earned was split only between herself and Erik and not the whole of the family. With Erik performing sleight of hand and illusions on the other end of town, the pair made more than enough to survive on.

Because they were never certain what currency their next city would utilize, saving the money they didn't need was a risky gamble. If they continued east much further they would find themselves in Russia, and if they began to move south, Turkey, Greece, and Asia Minor awaited, none of them accepting Austrian currency. Even several cities within Austria preferred their own monetary systems, something even Erik in all his wisdom could never explain.

On their final evening in town, Erik found Nadya waiting for him with an arm full of packages and several more at her feet. She smiled brightly at the sight of him, and laughed pleasantly at the slight movement of his mask she had learned meant uncertainty. "I'm making us a feast, but I also got more blankets," she explained, pressing the packages into Erik's arms and picking up the ones by her feet to walk with him back to their little camp just outside of town.

"We'll never be able to eat all of this food," Erik pointed out, but Nadya merely shrugged.

"We'll never be able to spend all the money either," she countered. "And I think we deserve to eat until we can't manage another bite at least once in our lives."

The meal wasn't ready until well after dark, but had been worth the wait. Nadya had refused to do much more than allow Erik to turn the roasting duck over the fire while she prepared a large pan of something akin to Spanish paella, filled with vegetables and sausages and spiced heavily with saffron and other herbs. By the time they had both eaten their fill, all that remained was small amount of paella, a few pieces of fruit, and the meatless bones of the roasted duck.

Nadya refilled Erik's wine and topped off her glass with the rest of the bottle, sitting across from him with a grin. "I got you something."

Erik raised a brow under the mask. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, 'what do I mean'? I got you something while I was in town today," she explained, reaching behind her to fish through the packages of blankets and pulling out a smaller, bundle wrapped in the same dark paper and offering it out to him. Erik held it carefully and looked over the package curiously. Nadya laughed cheerfully. "The wrapping isn't the gift, you know. Open it."

Peeling away the wrapping, Erik held in his hands a flexible leather folder and a small pouch of charcoal. Erik carefully untied the leather and ran his fingers over the unmarred parchment within, the smell bringing him back to the old stonemason's house in Rome and the small basement bedroom that had been his own. The happiest years of his life had been spent pouring over parchment as fine as this, drawing and awaiting the praise of his master for his work. During those brief years he had a life to look forward to, the possibility of a future. How strange that the simple smell of leather and parchment could manage to bring back so many memories.

"I remembered you saying you used to dream of buildings. I thought maybe you hadn't drawn any in a while since you've been traveling for so long," she suggested when Erik said nothing. His silence continued, causing Nadya to frown. "You don't like it."

Erik shook his head suddenly, as if coming out of a trance. "No, it's not that at all. I just… I am grateful to know you, Nadya," he said quietly.

She had heard once that men who go blind eventually become more capable with their other senses. There was even a story of a blind man who made his tribe a fortune when it was discovered he could smell out truffles better than any hound or boar. Erik had no face, but like a blind man he seemed to compensate for it in other ways. His voice was more expressive than any man's face could ever be, and that voice saying her name made her skin prick.

Quietly she put aside the glasses of wine that sat between them and ventured forward. With great care she sat up on her knees and leaned in to place her lips on his, kissing him gently. Every muscle in Erik's body seemed to tense the moment their lips touched, but he made no move to pull away. Even after Nadya sat back on her heels Erik remained frozen, eyes lowered. Nadya hunted for his gaze, imploring him to look at her so that she might get at least some idea of what was going through his mind.

"You don't… you don't know what you're doing," Erik finally managed, eyes still staring down into nothingness.

Nadya sat up and leaned in again, pressing her lips against his defiantly. If he didn't think she knew what she was doing then, he would be hard pressed to accuse her of naivety now. Her lips lingered longer than before, and before she knew what was happening Erik's lips were devouring hers. A hand slipped up the back of her neck and became entangled in her long dark tresses as the kisses deepened and their breathing grew heavy. Instinct drove Erik's weight over her and Nadya fell back compliantly, making certain their lips never parted but for a quick gasp of breath. It wasn't until Nadya's nails pressed into his shoulders and her hips bucked up against his that Erik became aware of the danger of their actions and flung himself off of her and onto his feet, leaving Nadya on the ground both confused as to how they had managed to get to that point and why he had suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong?"

"Go to sleep, we're leaving at dawn," Erik instructed curtly, moving to the other side of the fire as Nadya sat up and held herself some.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"For once in your life would you keep your God damned questions to yourself?" Erik barked so harshly Nadya flinched visibly and looked away to hide the tears that were beginning to form in her eyes. He immediately felt a pang of guilt and hung his head some. "I didn't mean to be so harsh."

"I don't understand you, Erik. One moment we're kissing and everything is wonderful, and the next-"

"Go to sleep, Nadya."

"No," she replied firmly. "If we don't talk about what just happened now we never will."

"And we'll both be better off for it."

Nadya shook her head in disagreement, wiping at her eyes. "I care about you, Erik. And I know you care about me. What's so wrong about what just happened? Am I not pretty enough, is that it? Is my skin too dark? Is my mouth too big? Would you prefer my figure if I were cinched into a corset and pinned up my hair?"

"It isn't any of that," Erik promised quietly, finally sitting albeit well away from her. He was quiet for a moment as Nadya watched him expectantly, waiting for his rationale. "If you knew what my mask is hiding –"

"Damn the mask," Nadya snapped. "It doesn't define you any more than my skirt defines me."

"Your skirt defines you as Roma from a mile away," Erik pointed out, causing Nadya to purse her lips some. "And even if you have been exiled, you are still very much a Roma in heart and mind. My face… my face is my race. My upbringing, my culture. It is all that has ever and will ever define me."

"And what if it does? Why is that such a terrible thing, Erik? You are not a monster. You are an artist, a magician, a mason, a traveler! If a handsome face mattered at all I would never have kissed you in the first place. It's not as if your mask is terribly handsome," she pointed out.

"Not-handsome is not the same as grotesque," Erik protested, a sickening feeling rising in his stomach; he knew where this conversation was going to end.

"You don't think people have called me grotesque? I have been called a harlot, a witch, a vagabond, a thief, and a freak because of the way I look too, Erik, but I've never in my life used my appearance as a crutch the way you do," she snapped, instantly regretting her tone but not her words. Erik's jaw clenched but he said nothing, merely staring into the fire between them, so Nadya continued. "I'm not going to talk you into being with me, but if ever change your mind I'm here."

With those final words Nadya found and unwrapped the new wool blankets she had purchased earlier in the day and wrapped herself in them before laying down and closing her eyes to sleep. She never heard Erik's footsteps as he approached some time later and lay down beside her.

When she awoke the following morning she shivered violently and burrowed into the blankets, unaware for moments that in her sleep she had curled against her friend, head resting neatly on his shoulder. Her tanned cheeks darkened some as she moved away, hoping she hadn't woken him by stirring. Any hopes she had of slinking away from another conflict like the night before were dashed when he spoke, clearly having been awake for some time. "Good morning."

"It's cold," was all she could manage in her embarrassment, sitting up and wrapping the blankets tighter around her as if to emphasize her point.

"We'll need to find a place to settle down for the winter soon," Erik remarked, sitting up as well and handing her one of the old blankets he had been using. Nadya accepted it with a hesitant, but grateful look. He stood and placed the remaining logs on the fire without saying a word, and Nadya pulled her knees up to her chest to watch the flames.

"Listen. I'm sorry abo-" Erik held up his hand to silence her without so much as a glance, causing her to purse her lips.

The rest of the morning passed in silence as they ate the remaining paella and packed up the horse. It was nearly noon before Erik said another word to her. "You surprised me."

Nadya wasn't sure what to say in response, and was quiet when Erik continued. "I thought you were going to tell me to take off the mask. I would have bet my life on it. You don't owe me any apologies."

"I would never ask you to do that, Erik," Nadya promised. "You're my only friend. I care about you, whether you want to believe it's true or not."

"I believe it," Erik said quietly, riding forward. "You know, I think I've talked more to you in the few months I've known you than in my entire life," he remarked.

Nadya smiled behind him. "Even more than the stone mason?"

"Than everyone combined," Erik mused. "Don't ask me to explain it. And don't let it get to your head," he added, as though he could feel her pleased smile on his back.

* * *

><p>Nadya squealed as she ran full force into the tent and collapse soaking wet in a fit of giggles. Erik looked up from the leather-bound parchment he had been sketching on, his amusement evident in spite of the black leather concealing his face. "Where have you been? It's pouring."<p>

"I didn't notice," she exclaimed through breathless giggles. "I was nearly a whole mile away when it started raining," Nadya lamented, sitting up and wringing out her skirt. "Why aren't you sopping wet too?"

"I wasn't nearly as far of when the clouds rolled in," Erik explained, handing her a blanket to help her dry off, trying desperately not to stare as the damp blouse clung to her breasts.

"What were you doing?" She asked, draping the blanket over her shoulders to cover herself and remove her soaking wet clothing and place them out to dry.

"Utilizing the sketchbook you gave me, actually," Erik replied, trying harder than ever not to stare.

The young woman grinned from ear to ear at this news, wrapping the blanket around her before moving by his side curiously. "Well, let me see!"

The look of quiet alarm that took over Erik's posture made Nadya laugh brightly. "If you're half as good at sketching as you are at music, it's going to be brilliant. Let me see!"

It was another moment before Erik adjusted the leather bindings so that Nadya could view the sketches from beside him. She watched with a smile as Erik turned through sketches of plants and animals drawn to such incredible detail that the only flaw Nadya could see was their lack of color. "These birds can't have sat still long enough for you to draw them!"

"They didn't. I've only drawn in camp, while you're asleep or out," he explained, turning over one of the sheets. The next page contained elaborate, meticulously drawn shapes and what Nadya recognized as letters and numbers although they were just as foreign to her as the shapes.

"What are these?"

"Architectural designs."

"What do the words say?"

"They're just measurements and materials," Erik said, pointing to the words. "'Cerise', cherry. 'Acajou', mahogany. "Marbe", marble."

Nadya looked up to her friend in surprise. "That was French, wasn't it? How many languages do you speak, Erik?"

"Six currently. Spanish, French, Italian, Latin, German, and Romani. I'm getting better at Turkish, but I'm not quite fluent yet. It's considerably different than the romance languages."

"So you're French! You mentioned you were from out west but I've been wondering how far."

Erik looked amused. "How do you know I'm not Spanish? Or American even?"

"We're not going to France, but your writing on the sketch is in French. It must be your native tongue, why else would you use it?" She explained, and Erik was pleased with her answer. As frustrating as her curiosity could be at times, there was no denying the girl was clever. "What is it you're designing?"

"An opera house," he admitted, turning the pages until a sketch of the outside of the building in its entirety graced the page. "I studied one briefly when I was in Italy. There's something… incredibly unique about the way they're structured. The voice and the orchestra have to fill the entire theatre. If one voice or one instrument gets lost, music turns into meaningless noise. One beam out of place, the wrong kind of wood on the stage, too many or too few seats can wreak havoc on the performance."

"And you know how to build it to make it all work?"

"I know how to build it to make it all work better than anyone ever has before," Erik explained, boastfully. "I know music better than any architect, and architecture better than any musician. All I need is an investor, and I will build the most beautiful, successful opera house in the world."

Erik looked up from the pages to find Nadya smiling at him, and he realized in that moment that her smiles in the days since they had left her family behind were some of the most genuine and beautiful he had seen her wear. It had been difficult to tell when he had first met her how forced or even false her smile was, but now there was never any shadow of a doubt her smiles were affectionate and joyful. "You're laughing at me," he accused lightly.

Nadya shook her head, damp waves finally loosening from her shoulders though her smile never faded. "No," she promised, "It's just nice to see you with a goal."

"What do you mean?"

"You just… never seem to look very far into your future. You don't know where you're going, you're just going there. But this is something you're planning to do with your life besides just survive," she mused, reaching around him to turn the page, expecting another sketch of the lovely opera house of Erik's creation.

Erik lowered his eyes some just as Nadya's eyes widened and looked to him in surprise. The sketch was the image of a young woman she had seen before only in still water and in the dirty glass windows of town shops and churches, but it was still recognizable; Erik had been sketching her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Sorry this chapter took so long. I had a lot of trouble with it for some reason. I'm still not thrilled with it, but I can't think of what else to tweak.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you, Erik!" Nadya exclaimed, wide eyed. "I kissed you, I told you I'm here for you if you want to… I don't even know. See where life takes us. Isn't that what this is about, Erik? You talked me into thinking this life, life out here with you was more free than my life with my family, and for me it is. But what about you? How are you possibly free if you can't even admit you care about me too!"<p>

"If it were that simple –"

"It _is_ that simple, Erik! It's only the two of us, how could it be any simpler?" She demanded, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her body more out of self consciousness than from the cold.

Erik's jaw tensed and Nadya knew there was no reasoning with him. She moved to the other end of the tent, rooting through her things for dry clothes as rain thundered against the outside of the tent. Nadya carefully tied the blanket over her chest to free her hands and turned her back to him as she stepped into a skirt and pulled a fresh blouse over her head.

"Do you remember what you told me when you read my palm?"

"Which part?" She asked, letting the blanket drop and tucking the blouse into her skirt before turning to face him again.

"That I would know love twice. The first would be real, but short lived. The second would be vain and fleeting," he said, never meeting her eyes as she studied him curiously.

"I remember. But what –"

"If you'd be quiet for a moment I'll tell you," Erik snapped, causing Nadya to purse her lips. "I just… Even if nothing else matters, I don't want for you to be either of those women."

Nadya opened her mouth to protest, but stopped at a hard look from those animalistic eyes. "What if you're the second one, Nadya? What if I loved Luciana? What if I only feel this way about you because you're beautiful and because for some reason you're attracted to me too? That would be it for me. This would be that second love, the last one, and there are so many more years to live," he explained quietly, causing Nadya to frown some. "But if you're the first… If you're the first it means I am going to lose you, and I don't want that either."

"For one thing, I never knew Luciana but judging by what you told me about her you did not love her," Nadya said, venturing closer. "It sounded to me like you could hardly stand her. And palmistry isn't a science, Erik. How you live your life determines your future, not a few lines I saw in your hand… do you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"That you love me? Or might love me?"

"You think I'm lying about it all?" Erik demanded, and Nadya shook her head quickly.

"No, no. I just… You're my best friend, and so much more than that, and if you say you love me and there's even the slightest chance you might be unsure or wrong, please tell me now so that I don't do something incredibly stupid and ruin all of that," she said, biting the insides of her cheeks and diverting her eyes when she realized she was rambling.

The silence that fell between them was broken by a bright flash shortly followed by a roll of thunder from far overhead. Nadya looked up and frowned some as the rain roared against the side of the tent. The tent was sturdy and the wind was low, but the storm was a long ways from being over by the sound of it. Nadya's skin pricked in the cold and she reached for the blanket again, freezing the moment she saw Erik's hands upon his face.

Before she could protest, Erik hung his head and peeled the black leather mask away from his face. Even before Erik could raise his gaze, Nadya's blood ran cold in her veins. When Erik finally managed to pull his head up, Nadya brought both hands to her mouth in shock.

Erik's title of The Living Corpse had been well deserved. His skin was stretched painfully thin over the bones of his face, the height of his cheekbones only adding to the hollowness of his cheeks. His eyes were as sunken as his cheeks, their amber color barely distinguishable in the shadow his brow cast over them. He had no eyebrows or lashes that Nadya could distinguish, only sickly, yellowing flesh laced with blue-green veins.

Hair was not the only thing missing from the young man's face; perhaps the most disturbing feature of all was the dark abscess where there ought to have been a nose. It was not something Nadya had expected; the black mask had a nose, after all. Another thing Nadya had not anticipated was the growing rage in those wolfish eyes. "Your 'best friend and so much more', hm? You're afraid!"

Nadya opened her mouth as if to protest, but no words came. Erik chuckled, though the sound held no mirth at all. "You sicken me as much as I sicken you, Gypsy. I've done nothing but good for you since I saved your virtue if not your life in the woods, yet you're afraid of me! Come and give me a kiss now, if you dare. My own mother couldn't manage it; I can't imagine you'll do any better," he spat.

"You're going to do everything you know how to push me away, aren't you?" Nadya demanded tearfully, taking man by surprise. "I'm not afraid of you; you're the one afraid of me! You're terrified of anyone caring for you! Oh, you can pine in secret just fine, but the minute someone starts to show a bit of affection for you, you run. Only this time you can't run. You've admitted you loved me and I wasn't repulsed by the idea. Now you're trying to frighten me off with your face!"

"You're not afraid?" Erik exclaimed before opening his arms and speaking again as if addressing an audience only he could see. "She's not afraid! On the contrary, she claims! The lion is afraid of the lamb."

"You said so yourself; you've never harmed me, and I don't foresee that changing any time soon. I have no reason to be afraid," Nadya declared confidently, wiping at her eyes.

"Tell me, Nadya, what was that ever-so alluring "something stupid" you were going to do if I promised I loved you, hm?" Erik asked venomously, reaching out to push a damp curl away from her face. Nadya tensed, hoping her growing anxiety was not yet apparent. "Kiss me again? Perhaps you would prefer me to take the reins this time. Very well."

With that the hand on Nadya's cheek quickly snaked behind her head, pulling her forward before she realized what was happening. Erik's mouth consumed hers, his strong grasp on the back of her neck and head keeping her from pulling away no matter how she struggled. When Erik would not release her, Nadya struck him so hard across the cheek the sound rang out over the rain like a clap of thunder. Erik released her, whether out of surprise or pain Nadya could not be sure as he covered his grotesque cheek where she had struck him and glanced down. Retreating to the far end of the tent, Nadya spoke bitterly.

"You will never, _ever_ touch me in anger again," she said firmly. "If I ever decide to kiss you again after your behavior tonight, it will be on my terms. And while I still have your attention, allow me to point something out to you, Erik: YOU cannot even stand to look at yourself unmasked, so what gives you the right to damn me for not throwing myself at you without it? You've had your whole life to come to terms with it; I've had five minutes, and you've been an ass the entire time!"

Erik's hand had not left his face, nor had he pulled his gaze away from the ground between them. The shallow rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life at all until another moment passed and Erik reached for his mask without moving another muscle. "Wait," Nadya commanded, and Erik froze again. She ventured towards him again and sat directly in front of him. Taking a moment to steel her nerves, she reached forward and tipped his chin up. Erik's eyes remained lowered as Nadya studied him with an ever deepening frown. "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes," Erik murmured. "It's worse in the summer months."

"And you… you were born like this? Nobody did this to you?"

"Only God in His infinite wisdom," Erik remarked, dryly.

Nadya nodded and pursed her lips before letting him go. In a swift movement Erik returned the mask to his face, and his whole form seemed to change. Only a moment before he had seemed small and weak, almost childlike once his rage had subsided. Here again was the strong, if temperamental man she had become so close to in such a short period of time. "If you want to part ways, I understand. You can take the horse, I'll find another."

"I'd like to travel with you a little longer, if I may," Nadya offered.

"You're aware I could have easily overpowered you?"

"You and every other male that has ever lived, Erik. But if I walk around frightened of everything with a penis I'm not going to get very far in life now am I?" she remarked before covering her mouth, surprised at her own language.

Erik laughed so heartily, Nadya couldn't help but smile. The laugh was real, full of joy and amusement without a hint of malice. "Fair point," he admitted. "Why do I feel like you've had to use this logic before?"

"Because I have. The day after you stopped those men in the woods," Nadya reminded him, and Erik's mirth faded. He moved to one of the saddle bags he had the foresight to bring inside before the rain started and retrieved a neatly wrapped loaf of bed, breaking it in two and handing half to Nadya.

"Thanks. I didn't realize how hungry I was-"

"Does it happen often?" Erik asked suddenly, taking the other half for himself an breaking off a smaller piece. "Before I met you, had you had to use that logic often?"

Nadya shook her head. "No. Once before that day we met. But you grow up hearing stories, you know? A think a lot of it was made up. It's easier to cry rape than try and explain falling for a Gaje," she explained, taking a bite of the bread. "And then there are the stories tell to keep us afraid of Gaje men."

"Clearly they didn't work on you. Here you are, miles from home with a Gaje without a face. One you've kissed no less."

"One I would kiss again if he weren't so volatile," she remarked, taking another bite of bread and glancing up briefly to gage his reaction.

"…You would?"

"I know you're doing your very best to run me off, but on the whole you're a good man. I'd prefer to think these moods you get into are the exception to the rule, not the rule."

"Even after –"

"Yes, Erik, even after I've seen your face," she finished for him. "I've told you before. I didn't fall in love with you because of your… why are you looking at me like that?"

Erik was regarding her, thoughts hidden by the black leather mask. Still Nadya felt something strange in his gaze. Another flash lit up the tent, shortly followed by a roll of thunder.

"You love me?" Erik asked finally, and Nadya blinked some.

"I… yes," she admitted quietly before jumping into a rambling explanation. "I was afraid to say anything about it until I knew you felt the same. It was so hard to tell, with how you pushed me away after I kissed you before. I didn't want to say it until I knew you weren't going to push me even fur-"

"I'm sorry. Everything I've loved has hurt me, or I've hurt it. Often times both. Nothing good in my life stays good for very long. I thought if I could keep you away I could avoid the hurt all together, but I hurt you even that way," Erik explained quietly. "Will you ever forgive me?"

"Yes," Nadya promised. "So long as you're willing to stop all of this nonsense. I want you to want to kiss me and hold me. No more of this pushing and fighting."

"I can't promise anything except that I'll try."

"Then that will have to be enough," Nadya smiled, taking another bite from the bread. To her surprise, Erik smiled too as they ate in comfortable silence.

Hours passed, and still the storm showed no sign of relenting. Nadya lay with her head in Erik's lap, both unable to sleep through the increasing flashes of light and the roaring thunder and rain. Erik was doing his best to read from a pair of books he had purchased in the first village they had come across in Turkey, one written German and the other in Turkish. With a small sound of frustration, Erik closed the books and set them aside. "It must be nearly four in the morning," he remarked. "Much more of this and we'll have to build an arc."

"Maybe we should pack up and head into town," Nadya suggested. "An inn would be sturdier than any tent."

"We don't have enough money for the rent," Erik pointed out, twirling one of the dark waves of her hair absently in his fingers. "Besides, we'd both come down with pneumonia on the way there, and then where would we be?"

Nadya leaned into the touch and sighed some, exhausted. "Tell me something about yourself, Erik," she suggested, closing her eyes.

"Your curiosity is going to be the death of you," Erik remarked in amusement. "How about I ask you a question instead?"

Nadya smiled up to him. "All right, but I warn you running off with you is the most exciting thing that's ever happened in my life."

"Why did you ask if I was born with my face or if someone had done this to me?"

A sad, thoughtful look crossed Nadya's face then as she considered her answer. "I don't really know. I remember you telling me you've looked this way since you were a little boy so it only makes sense that you were born with it. You might have even told me you were born with it before, come to think of it. But I suppose I wanted someone to blame. Someone to be angry with. Everyone already curses fate, but blaming a midwife or your mother would be so much easier. And it's… less frightening to think of the horrors of man than it is to think of the horrors of the unknown. You can predict how people will behave and avoid or counter it. Who knows when fate will give us a storm like this, or send disease, or scar the face of an innocent little boy?"

Erik seemed pleased with her response as he continued to play his fingers through her hair, although he said nothing. When he looked down at the young woman in his lap she was looking up at him pensively. "Is something else on your mind?" He asked, and Nadya took another moment to gather her thoughts.

"I've been trying to think of a way to say this that doesn't sound horrible, but I can't. I'm glad you look the way that you do, Erik," she admitted quietly. "If you looked like a normal man, you would be somewhere in the world taking it by storm with your music, or building palaces for noblemen and kings. You never would have stopped to help me, even if our paths had crossed that day. Even if you had stopped, you would have walked out of my life just as easily as you walked in. I would still be living for my father, or for a husband of my own."

Erik had stopped stroking her hair and said nothing. Nadya sat up to face him with a small frown. "I'm sorry. That was a cruel thing of me to say," she offered, though Erik shook his head.

"Fate is cruel, Nadya, but not without purpose. I will have that life, and you besides." He vowed. "Mark my words."


	9. Chapter 9

It had been such a blur. Never before had a moment in time seemed both so rapid and so agonizingly slow.

The day had started simply enough. Rather than camping, Erik and Nadya had decided to take up residence for a few days in an abandoned farmhouse. A small, single room building, the only improvement the farmhouse offered over the tent was added insulation, but any improvement was one worth taking as winter approached. Nadya had gone out to hunt rabbits while Erik patched several holes in the roof in preparation for more rain. When she had not returned by the time Erik was through, he decided to venture into the village nearby for some fresh bread

The violin had been an unintended but irresistible purchase. A man on the street took Erik's arm as he made his way out of the village with bread and cheese, and would have found himself with a knife in his ribs if Erik had not spotted his wares first. The violins were crude, clearly meant to play folk music and not Mozart or Chopin, but in the hands of a proper musician they were capable of plenty and the price was more than fair.

The only things on his mind, the only thing he could see, hear, and feel was music. It flowed from his fingers as easily as speech from his mouth. It had been years since he had touched a violin, but his hands flowed over strings and manipulated the bow as though he had never put the instrument down. Finally being able to bring the sounds in his mind to the air was incredibly liberating.

Erik never heard Nadya return to the farmhouse. It was not until her arms snaked around his middle that he became aware of her presence and immediately stopped playing. She released him only briefly as he turned to face her, and in a moment one hand guided his head down to meet her lips.

He could remember thinking how small she was. They had kissed before, but sitting the height difference between them was far less drastic. Now even as she stood on her toes Erik craned his neck to kiss her, and the aches in his joints indicated he still had more growing to do before his body settled into its shape. Her height was perfectly ordinary, he knew; like always, it was he who was abnormal.

After that thought, things began to move rapidly. All rational thought simply evaporated as their kisses quickly deepened and grew in intensity. Instinct guided his hands to seek flesh, an instinct Nadya seemed willing enough to oblige so long as he allowed her access to his flesh in turn. She peeled off her blouse before fumbling with the buttons of his shirt under which his chest heaved at the sight and feel of her bare breasts. Erik swallowed her whimper as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and dug her fingers into his back. By the time they made their way to the floor, there was no turning back.

The next thing he could remember thinking was a momentary sense of panic when Nadya slackened under him. Had he hurt her, crushed her when his muscles had given out in that surreal wave of pleasure? Quickly he rolled off of her and sat up to make sure she was all right. The trace amounts of blood on her naked thigh nearly made Erik sick to his stomach.

"You're bleeding," he announced, quickly moving to fill the cooking pot with water as Nadya sat up and folded her arms over her breasts more to warm herself from the sudden rush of cold air than out of modesty.

"I'm fine. It's normal to bleed a little the first time," Nadya promised, watching him as he dipped a rag in the steaming water and returned to her side. She allowed him to clean the blood, if only to convince him she really was unharmed. He had been inside her only minutes before; there was no sense in being modest if it would put his mind at ease. "I don't know what came over me," she murmured, wishing she could read his face behind that damned mask. Not that his real face would be much more readable, she thought.

When he remained silent, she continued. "I heard you playing as I was coming back from the field. There was something about that sound… It made my entire body ache for you, even before I was sure it was you playing. My head was foggy and pounding. I barely remember kissing you. I feel like a harlot, throwing myself at you like that."

"So you were drinking," Erik remarked coolly and Nadya blinked some in confusion.

"No, I was out getting food. There's a pair of rabbits some vegetables right there," she defended, gesturing to sack she had left just inside the door on her way inside. She could tell already where his mind was headed. "And if I were drunk my head would still be foggy and pounding, wouldn't it? It's not as if that took all afternoon. Really, it's not any different from the last time except that we just… didn't stop."

"Which is quite a big difference if you ask me."

Nadya pursed her lips and drew her knees up to her chest when Erik seemed satisfied that she was no longer bleeding. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. There was a considerable difference between kissing and sex, even though they were admittedly in love. Kissing could not result in pregnancy. It would not make her any less valuable to a potential husband God forbid something happen to Erik and she be forced to make a life with someone else… but in spite of all that, in spite of not knowing why or how it had even happened, she felt comfortable with it all. There was no remorse or regret, simply curiosity. How had it happened? What was going to come next? Erik's voice snapped her out of her reverie. "I'm sorry?"

"I asked if it hurt. You were bleeding if only for a little, I assume it must have," Erik said again, pouring out the hot water and cleaning the pot. It was not without regret that Nadya noticed he had dressed into his slacks while she had been thinking; his face might have been difficult to look at, but she could appreciate his frame all the same.

"Oh. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but not nearly as painful as I was told it would be. Different is all. I got used to it pretty quickly," she admitted, her dark cheeks darkening even further even as a small smile crept onto her face at the memory. "Was it anything like you expected?"

"Your kind has no modesty at all," Erik snapped, though the remark caused Nadya's smile to widen.

"Is that a complaint?" She asked coyly, unfurling in spite of the cold and reveling for a moment in the power she had over him. Here was a man who could create music more heavenly than any angel and more seductive than any stroke, who could sketch buildings as beautiful as a fairy-tale palace, gazing at her as though she were a work of art.

"No, I don't suppose it is," he admitted. "Though you'd had best get dressed. The further we get from the coast the colder the nights will be."

Nadya obeyed with an amused smile, reaching for her skirt and blouse before standing to put another log on the fire. "You never answered my question."

Erik shot the young woman a glare over his shoulder, and Nadya gave him an innocent smile in return as she gathered up the rabbits for roasting. After another moment, Erik finally spoke. "I didn't have any expectations."

"That's a lie and you know it," Nadya accused lightly. "Everybody has expectations about sex."

Not another word was spoken until both the hares were cooking over the fire. "It wasn't what I expected, no," Erik admitted quietly, causing Nadya to look back to him again.

"What was different about it?"

"I don't know. I thought it would feel more like being loved."

Nadya frowned and stood to wrap her arms around him from behind. When he turned she rested her head on his chest and held him close. "I love you," she said simply, looking up at him. "I love you just as much now as I did this morning. And as much as it may seem to you that this only happened because you think I was drunk or whatever other excuses I know are swarming in the stubborn head of yours, it happened first and foremost because I love you."

"I love you too," Erik promised quietly. "This is all so surreal."

Nadya nodded her agreement and rested her head back on his chest. "I know. But you'll get used to it eventually. We have all the time in the world."

That night Erik sat against the wall of the farmhouse and took up the violin once again. Instead of freeing the music in his mind, he decided upon Chopin's Nocturne in C# minor. It was a duet he knew, meant to be played along with the piano. He knew both parts by heart, but had never before heard them together outside the confines of his mind. It was both a gift and a curse, knowing how beautiful the melody was but also knowing he would never be able to create it in full. Not on his own.

Erik knew his talents, but he was also exceedingly aware of his limitations. The music in his mind was great. Given the means, he had little doubt he could write an entire symphony without edit, one that would rival Mozart and Hayden. An Opera would be child's play once a suitable story could be found. Hell, just improvising had driven the one thing he life he adored nearly as much as his music to seduction. If his talents had such a raw effect on one women, there was no limit to the ways in which he could move the masses.

No limit except for his face and everything that came with it. No limit except for his short temper and wicked, even violent boughts of rage. Even if he could hide his face well enough to convince others to work with him, he would never succeed in hearing his music played outside of his own mind. Erik was alone, and talented as he might be he could not play an entire symphony alone.

Ever since he had abandoned his mother's home at the age of eight, Erik had accepted his solitude. Even when he had lived with the stone mason in Italy, some of the happiest years of his life he had accepted that someday that happiness would end, that his acceptance in the world of man would only be temporary. And he had been right. The old stone mason had betrayed Erik in favor of his rotten daughter, but he could not be blamed. He was only human, and his loyalty was to his flesh and blood and his own damnable curiosity, not to the monster who had come under his tutelage. Erik had been fallen back into solitude even before the mason's daughter had fallen to her death by the man's demand that he remove the mask.

Nadya was different. She had found her own ways of adapting to her solitude. Rather than embracing her loneliness, she had simply laughed in its face. Surrounded by people who could not understand her firm will and curiosity, she had put on a smile and played at happiness, ducking her head when conflict arose and taking life one moment at a time. In a way, she had been wearing a mask of her own.

That mask had vanished those few months, Erik thought as she made her way over to rest her head in his lap as he played. The young woman he had met in the woods was the very same woman he had made love with on the floor of a Turkish farmhouse, simply grown. She was no longer content to be lonely. There were no more false laughter and smiles that did not meet her eyes. That happiness was real, and Erik was a part of it. She had accepted him as a way to end her loneliness, and was glad for it.

So why was it such a struggle for Erik to do the same? Why did his instincts warn him to push her away as she continued to seek ways to be closer. She made him happy. He woke up every morning looking forward to her smile, even to her persistent and often infuriating curiosity. He adored the ways she looked at him, the way she was learning his body language. She was willing to reach out and pull him from the darkness if only he would take the chance. It was one of the things he loved so dearly about her.

To step out of solitude and into her welcoming arms would mean change. There were times mere survival was hard enough on his own, but to care for another person as well? If her mind changed and she decided to leave him alone again, could he go back to the way things were? Was the cost worth the benefit?

Yes. One could not live life alone any more than one could play for an entire orchestra. How hollow and empty the violin sounded without the piano to round out the accompaniment. When the piece finished, Erik glanced down at the young woman in his lap and reached down to pull a stray wave behind her ear. He caught sight of a tear in her eye, which she quickly wiped away.

"Is something wrong?"

She shook her head gently. "No. It was such a sad song is all. Most of what I've heard on the fiddle is for dancing, nothing like what you play."

"Minor key can have that effect. Chopin especially."

Nadya looked up to him curiously, and Erik elaborated. "Music has a way of effecting the emotions. It's not always the case, but most dance music tends to be in the major key. It's up-tempo, quick, and generally happy or elegant feeling. Minor key is often much more poignant. Chopin wrote especially evocative tunes in the minor key."

"Who wrote the song you played before?"

"I was writing it as you were listening, actually," he confessed.

The look of astonished admiration in Nadya's eyes filled Erik with pride and renewed his confidence. When he leaned down to kiss her she met his lips compliantly, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold herself closer. When they returned to the farmhouse floor to make love for the second time that evening, Erik knew he would never be lonely so long as he had such a remarkable woman to call his own.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note**: I know, I know. It's been WAY too long. I have nothing but the usual "life got crazy on me" excuses. I have so many great things in store for this story, and there's a HUGE twist coming up very soon. I have such a huge writing bug and fortunately have a bit of a lull in the chaos this weekend, so I may even get another chapter up by Sunday. It'll be a big one, so stay tuned!

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><p>Erik leaned against the wall of the church, eyes alight with amusement. He had overheard the boys talking about the beautiful Gypsy woman telling fortunes on the corner, one of them exclaiming boldly that she was the love of his life and his future bride. At the insistence of the other boys to do something about his love, the boy finally worked up the nerve to approach Nadya and asked to have his fortune told.<p>

Neither Nadya nor the boy noticed Erik as he watched the scene unfold from the shadows. Nadya smiled broadly at the sight of the boy who couldn't have been older than twelve, and gladly took his hand to read his palm. The boy's eyes never left her face as Nadya studied his hand and began to explain what she saw in accented Turkish, completely oblivious to his affections until he spoke.

"Marry me."

"I… I'm sorry?" Nadya managed in a rare moment of speechlessness. It was all Erik could do not to laugh as the boy tried again.

"Marry me. A woman as beautiful as you should be living in a palace, not on the street! You will never wont for anything again," the boy swore as Nadya blinked her wide brown eyes in surprise.

"I'm flattered, I really am," Nadya promised uncomfortably, glancing around for any way out of the situation when she spotted the tall shadowy figure leaning against the church. Immediately an idea struck her, and she smiled back to the boy. "But I'm already married."

This time it was the boy's face that dropped. "Your husband left you all alone out on the street?"

"Not at all," Nadya explained, "he's never very far. Right now he's over there, by the churh."

The boy looked over his shoulder and frowned deeply as Erik stepped from the shadows towards the pair. The color drained from his youthful face hen he realized the tall man's face was concealed by more than just shadow. "_He's_ your husband?"

"The love of my life," Nadya confirmed, smiling up to Erik as he placed a hand on her shoulder in greeting.

"This young man isn't giving you any trouble, is he?" Erik asked sternly, watching with amusement as the boy shifted where he sat.

"I meant no harm, Sir," the boy promised earnestly. But he was bold. "It's just… how did _you_ manage to win a woman like her?"

Erik considered this for a moment. "A magician is never supposed to reveal his secrets, you know."

This earned him puzzled glances from both Nadya and the boy. "You mean there's a spell on her?"

"Can you think of any other reason such a woman would marry the likes of me?" Erik countered, and the boy looked sufficiently convinced. "You seem like a bright young man. How would you like to strike a deal?"

"What sort of deal?" The boy ventured as cautiously as if the Devil himself had asked to wage a bargain.

"If you can point us to the least expensive inn in the city, I'll tell you the spell that will make you irresistible to any woman you desire."

After considering the offer for a moment and apparently deeming it safe, the boy spoke. "On this road, about half a mile up on the right. It's run by the old widow Bata, cheapest you'll find anywhere."

Erik looked down at Nadya. "Love, if you wouldn't mind fetching something for our dinner?"

Nadya glanced up at him with a small smile on her face. "But what if I want to hear the spell too?"

"You are naturally irresistible to anyone you desire," he promised, leaning over to kiss her upturned forehead before handing her a small pouch of coins. "I'll meet you in the market."

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><p>Erik found Nadya browsing through the fresh produce in the marketplace, already laden with a bag of bread and cheese. Her hair was different from just minutes before, pushed back away from her face by a bright blue scarf that contrasted beautifully with her tanned skin and dark hair. When she caught sight of him, Nadya smiled brightly and beckoned him to her side. As she reached up on her toes to greet him with a kiss without any regard at all to the odd looks the action would earn her, Erik's heart sang.<p>

"You are my hero," she praised.

"That boy should have been chasing chickens, not skirts," Erik remarked, returning the kiss and fingering the tail of the scarf that draped over her shoulder. "You have good taste."

Nadya's smiled widened at the praise. "Do you like it? A woman traded it to me today in exchange for her fortune. It must be worth twice what most people pay to have their palms read, so I gave her one of my lucky charms too."

"It's beautiful. Accepting it for anything less would have been stealing," Erik agreed. "I could be mistaken, but isn't a scarf in your hair the sign of a married woman?"

Nadya pursed her lips as she paid for the produce before turning her attention back to him. So much for keeping the meaning of the scarf a secret. "Telling that boy you were my husband reminded me about the scarf…" Nadya explained, hesitating a moment before continuing. "I thought since we're having sex now it wouldn't hurt to wear it as a diklo. This way if we do run across any tribes down here they won't accuse me of being some kind of harlot or think that you're keeping me against my will."

"By their standards you _are_ a harlot," he remarked, immediately regretting his choice of words when Nadya shot him a cold, hurt glare and moved past him with her parcels.

He turned after her. "Nadya, that isn't how I meant it."

"Of course it is; it's the truth. I'm good enough to sleep with but not good enough to marry. Every Roma who's ever fallen in love with a gaje has to come to terms with it eventually. I just never expected to hear it from you of all people," she said, pulling the scarf from her head in a fluid motion and tucking it into one of the pockets of her billowing skirt. It had been a girlish, stupid idea. Erik frequently kept her at arm's length, why should sleeping with him have changed that?

Catching her wrist as it emerged, Erik stopped her mid stride and turned her to face him. He frowned some at the sight of her jaw set tight, stubbornly keeping her tears of frustration at bay by staring directly into his chest as if she could see clear through him. Cupping her face in his hands, Erik kissed his lover soundly. Damn all the people who would stare and murmur their disgust.

It only took a moment for Nadya to give in and return the kiss, wrapping her arms around his slender frame and resting her head on chest when their lips parted. Erik held her in turn and rested his chin on the top of her head. "You know I would marry you."

Nadya nodded against his chest. "I'm sorry. I woke up in your arms this morning and all of the stories about the women who sleep with gaje men came to mind. All day I've been trying to remind myself I'm not just your mistress. I know nothing has changed since yesterday, but this is as new to me as it is to you. It might take a while for me to convince _myself_ I'm not a glorified whore, and it was my own idea."

Taking the food from Nadya, Erik kissed the top of her head in an attempt to comfort her and allowed her to tuck her arm under his as they made way out of the market. "What would it take for us to be married?" He asked after a moment, an idea forming. Nadya's brow knit in thought.

"You know, I don't know. It's not as if we have anyone to ask for permission to be husband and wife. We don't even have a church to be married under, like the Europeans do."

Erik nodded his agreement. "My thoughts exactly. We are our own people, our own country at this point."

A small smile crossed Nadya's face when she began to realize what he was after, but her tone remained conversational. "So really the only people we would have to ask for permission to marry are us."

"Right, and since we're the only two people of our nation, we are both the church and the state."

"Do you think our church would forgive us for last night?" Nadya asked with doe-eyed innocence.

"Let me ask – Yes, yes I think it would," Erik responded, only the light in his eyes giving away his amusement.

"And would the King give us permission to marry?"

"Only if the Queen agrees. She has him wrapped around her finger, you know."

This caused Nadya's façade to break with a peel of laughter before she nodded her agreement regally.

"Well then. Husband and wife we are, until death do us part."

Nadya grinned broadly. "And long after," she promised, pulling the scarf out from her skirts once again to tie it into her hair. "We've been walking the wrong way Erik, the horses are on the east end of town," Nadya remembered suddenly.

"We're not going to the horses, My Bride," the masked man explained, enjoying the way those words sounded as much as he enjoyed the sight of the scarf in Nadya's hair; the Turks might not recognize its significance, but Nadya's willingness to display her love for him publicly would never cease to amaze Erik. "I thought we might stay in an inn tonight."

"An inn?" Nadya asked in surprise. "With a real bed and a bath?"

Erik merely chuckled, and Nadya swatted at his arm with a small pout. "You're laughing at me, Husband. This isn't a very good start to our marriage."

"Yes, you're right. Shame on me," he chided. "I shall have to make it up to you when we reach our destination."

Nadya rested against her husband's chest, exhausted but reluctant to fall asleep. What had life been like before Erik? She could hardly remember now. Although it hadn't been long at all, the days before she had met Erik seemed to have been an eternity ago. She remembered she had been unhappy then. Deeply unhappy in hindsight, but ignorant of it at the time. It was hard to tell how unhappy she had been without a basis for comparison, after all.

Not that life with Erik was easy. The life of a nomad meant the frequent shift from times of surplus to times of hardship, but Nadya was used to that. On the nights she and Erik fell asleep with little more than boiled roots in their bellies she was comforted by the knowledge that next town they came across would surely be more generous. But traveling in such close quarters with a man who had spent the majority of his life alone was often trying. When Erik had a mind to be, he was wonderful company. Intelligent, considerate, adoring… but when the mood struck him, his intelligence and wit could be downright venomous.

Nadya had known these things from the moment she had read his palm, and saw them there still as she traced over it lazily. He wasn't perfect by any stretch, but he was perfect for her. She needed him in her life more than she needed breath in her lungs, and it thrilled her to no end that such a remarkable man needed her just the same.

"What do you see in your palm?" Erik asked, pulling Nadya from her reverie.

"Are you hungry? There's still a half loaf of bread, and some of the candied –"

As Nadya attempted to sit up and move out of bed, Erik caught the hand that had been examining his palm and kept her from getting far. He said nothing but every day Nadya was growing better at reading what little of his face she could see, and it was apparent her attempt to change the subject had concerned him.

With a small sigh, she moved back against his chest and took his hand, guiding one of his fingers along the lines in her palm. "You already know my personality and most of my past that has any importance. This line is long, meaning I should live to a ripe old age. Most of the women in my family do, Mother is the only one who didn't. How happy my life will be is… spotty. See how the line is broken like that? Yours is the same, I assume it's because we make each other miserable from time to time like any proper husband and wife," she teased before continuing. "I will have one child, but my fertility line is strong. It's a strange combination."

"And love?" Erik asked, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Only one," Nadya smiled up to him, a half-hearted sort of smile he hadn't seen from her in months.

"There's something you're not telling me."

"I thought you didn't believe in palmistry," Nadya countered. "What happened to it all being an act?"

"Say I do."

"…There's a heavy line here, above the love line. An overbearing presence. I always thought it represented my father, but I'm not so sure now," she said, climbing out of bed to break off a piece of bread from the loaf they had shared not long before. When she sat in front of him again and offered him a share of her piece, he dismissed it with a distracted wave.

"Have you seen it in other people?"

Nadya nodded as she took a bite. "In men it usually represents debt, trouble with a creditor. In women it's often a controlling male. Stern fathers, heavy-handed husbands, things like that."

When Erik frowned, Nadya stretched out against his side again and nestled into the crook of his arm. "I'm not worried about it, Erik, you shouldn't worry either. What did you tell that boy?"

Erik debated for a moment whether or not to press the subject or allow her to change the subject. Finally, he relented. "I told him to approach any woman and say 'Toutes les étoiles dans le ciel ne brillent pas autant d'éclat que vous'. As bold as he is, I'm sure it will work."

Looking up to him, Nadya smiled. "You never tried to woo me in French. Do my eyes shine like the stars?"

"Vous êtes la plus belle femme du monde. Je t'aime plus que la vieelle-même," Erik vowed, and Nadya's smile broadened as she moved over her husband and kissed him soundly.


	11. Chapter 11

Nadya smiled as Erik guided her through the street, but her movements were guarded.

"I'm going to fall! Is the blindfold really necessary, Erik?" She asked with nervous excitement, clutching to Erik's arm when her overly cautious steps caused her to stumble over her own feet.

"Yes. And the sooner you learn to trust me the sooner you can take it off," Erik chided, amused.

"Oh I trust you implicitly, it's the cobblestone I don't trust," Nadya promised, but she forced herself to walk more confidently as her husband guided her.

Their first year of marriage had been marvelous. Now half way into year two, Nadya was more in love with her husband than ever before. During their time together Erik had begun to teach his wife to read and write in Romani and French, a project which fascinated and delighted the young woman as surely as it made her ancestors turn in their graves. She was an eager student and learned quickly, amusing Erik with the depth of her frustration and the purity of her joy when she finally conquered a troublesome word. By the time Erik made the nearly blasphemous decision to teach her arithmetic, her handwriting had surpassed his own clumsily formed words.

Nadya had not known the extent to which she craved knowledge until Erik began offering it to her in spades. Erik was by far the most intelligent man Nadya had ever met or could hope to know, and while she was a keen student her husband was often an impatient teacher. Things that came readily to Erik required more than a little effort to settle with Nadya, and there were times they would sleep on opposite sides of the campfire simply because of an argument over sums or spelling.

Other nights their fights were worse. The two weeks Nadya thought she had been pregnant were perhaps the most frightening in her life, surpassing even the night her father had struck and banished her. She and Erik had never spoken about having children, and while the thought of getting married and having children seemed the most natural thing in the world to Nadya she knew that her husband did not feel the same way. Erik did not think like other men. He had not married her to spread his seed or to produce an heir. They did not need another set of hands to help them work. Erik had married her for tenderness and affection, to satisfy a need for love that ran deeper even than Nadya's thirst for knowledge.

Nadya's anxiety had been more evident than she thought, and within days he had begun to pry about her change in mood. Erik's reaction to her suspicions had been exactly has Nadya expected, but that didn't make the fight any easier to stomach. The fight had lasted for days, and the tension between them stayed until well after Nadya's monthly had returned. Things only returned to normal when Erik apologized for having been so aggressive and careless with his words and Nadya apologized for trying to keep it a secret. Fortunately she had not had another scare, and before long things returned to normal.

Erik had been planning to surprise Nadya for weeks. Since they met, they had been sharing the same great black horse on their travels. It meant limiting their belongings, often with neither of them riding in favor of carrying extra blankets or food through the winter. It was time they invest in another horse, and after a few months of saving and making excuses for staying in Turkey so the currency would be valid he had found a breeder known for producing only the highest quality horse. A few young horses were ready for travel and Nadya could have her pick. Erik had paid the man upfront and purchased a wedding band with the remaining of his savings; only a few people would ever recognize the diklo she wore as a symbol of her marriage, but nearly everyone would recognize the band on her left ring finger meant she was spoken for.

"How much longer?" Nadya asked with excited impatience.

"Not long now," Erik promised, amused. After just a few more minutes of walking, they came into a clearing filled with the low chatter. Erik stopped and moved behind Nadya to untie the blindfold.

Something felt wrong. The hair on the back of Nadya's neck stood on end as she looked around. The clearing smelled strongly of wood, leather, and horses. There was an eclectic mix of well dressed Turkish and even a few Arab and European men talking with men and women Nadya immediately recognized as Roma. This tribe was larger than her small family, and by the look of it far more accepting of the presence of gaje in their lives. "Erik, where are we?"

"A man in back in Istanbul told me about this place. The men in this tribe breed the best horses in the world they say. I've already paid them, you can pick any one you like.".

Suddenly Nadya's blood ran cold. "They're a horse tribe," she said under her breath, eyes darting over the faces of the Roma in the clearing. More than a few looked familiar and were glancing their way.

"Yes," Erik confirmed, noticing her change in behavior. "I thought you would enjoy being around your people again. They might have word about your family."

"We have to leave," Nadya said suddenly, grabbing onto her husband's arm in alarm as a tall, sturdy looking Roma man caught sight of the pair and excused himself from his Arab companion to make his way over.

"Nadya, what's-"

"Nadya Biaram, this is an unexpected delight," the man greeted.

The only thing betraying the terror coursing through her veins was the ever tightening grasp Nadya kept on her husband's arm. "Yoska Dimir," she greeted politely, and immediately Erik's blood ran cold.

"What a coincidence the two of us should cross paths, and in Turkey of all places. When your father told me you had run away I assumed I would have to send him to trial for backing out of our marriage arrangement," Yoska remarked, taking a long moment to glance over her. "Though I can see why he insisted on such a high bride price. You've grown up very nice indeed."

"You will not speak about my wife as though she were one of your horses," Erik commanded, and Yoska seemed to notice him for the first time.

If he was intimidated by Erik's menacing demeanor, he showed no sign of it. "You must be the man who seduced my bride-to-be. I've heard stories about you. They say you killed an entire troupe when you were just a boy, is that true?"

"My husband kills only with just cause. He is a good man," Nadya said with her jaw set and her chin held high.

Yoska clicked his tongue some. "When your father said you had run away with a man, he was still clinging to the hope that you had kept yourself whole. Part of the price I paid was for your virginity, after all. Still, you clearly haven't birthed any children. Perhaps I won't have to take the old man to trial after all."

For the first time, Nadya's nerve faltered as Erik pulled her behind him protectively. "She is _my _wife, Mister Dimir. You will not have her."

"You are mistaken, Sir. She is bought and paid for, and therefore is my property," Yoska announced, making a move to grab at Nadya's wrist and quickly finding himself faced with the tip of the blade Erik kept tucked into his boot. Instead of looking afraid, the man simply laughed. "You have some nerve. You could almost be Rom yourself."

"Touch her and I will drain every last drop of blood from your body," Erik threatened. Suddenly Nadya yelped from behind Erik and the masked man whirled to find another man had grabbed her as she kicked and struggled ferociously to free herself. Erik growled with rage and lunged at the man trying to keep his grip on Nadya, prying the man off the young woman with considerable strength. As soon as Nadya was freed from his grasp Erik fell upon the man like a cougar on its pray, sliding the blade between his ribs with nearly medical precision.

Nadya's freedom was short-lived. Several men had seen the confrontation and had come to aid, pulling Erik off the man who had tried to contain Nadya as Yoska and another man held her back.

The last thing Erik heard before his world went black was Nadya's high pitched shriek followed the loud firing of a gun.

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><p>"Look who's up," came a cheery male voice as Erik's world began to swim into focus. The memory of what had happened struck Erik like mallet as he blinked, trying desperately to sit up and shake off his confusion.<p>

"Nadya-" Erik tried, cringing as much as the hoarse sound of his own voice as from the dull ache in his shoulder.

A gentle hand pressed Erik back onto his back. "I don't know who it is you're talking about young man, but I assure you she's not here."

As the room began to focus and Erik became more aware of his surroundings, he was filled with a sudden sense of panic. "My mask. What have you done with my mask?" He demanded, covering his face with his hand in terror.

"It's right here, but you needn't worry about it right now," the man promised, and Erik turned to face the source of the voice. The man was darker than a Turk, even darker than the darkest Gypsy Erik had come across in his childhood. His face resembled tanned leather in texture, the area around his mouth covered in coarse, peppery-gray hair. His eyes were yellowed from disease of the liver, but perhaps their most startling feature was the milky white film over eyes Erik guessed must have once been black as pitch - this strange looking man was blind.

"…I would still like it back," Erik insisted and the man obliged, picking up the black leather mask with surprising precision for a man with no sight and placing it on Erik's chest. "Thank you."

"With manners like that you must be European," the man remarked, amused. "I thought for sure you were a Gypsy or a Turkish thief." He asked, standing and moving to another end of the weather-worn tent.

Erik struggled to sit upright and finally managed, touching at the bandage over the right side of his chest. Any further to the left and he would not have woken up at all. Perhaps that would have been better, he mused. "Where am I?"

"Azerbaijan. We found you in a clearing close to the Turkish border almost a week ago. We couldn't stay long, but I insisted on taking you with us," the ancient man explained, standing to bring Erik a glass of water. Erik watched curiously as weathered old hands sought out Erik's own to make certain the cup was taken.

"Were there any Gypsies there? A young woman was taken, my wife. A man named Yoska, an important man in a tribe that breeds and sells horses has her. Please, if you know anything-"

"Calm yourself young man, before you start bleeding again. I'm sorry, but it's been months since we've had any contact with Gypsies, and the last tribe we crossed tried to rob us blind. Fortunately we're not nearly as helpless as we look."

After a deep drink from the cup he had been given, Erik put it aside and tied the mask to his face deliberately. "Thank you for your kindness, Sir."

"If she was taken by Gypsies, you won't ever find her now," the man said with a small frown. "They will have at least a week's head start, who knows in what direction."

"I won't abandon her," Erik snapped at the old man, his shoulder already beginning to throb.

"And what will she do if you die?" the old man pointed out. Erik opened his mouth as though to protest before hanging his head some. "You are no use to anyone dead, My Friend. Stay with while you heal. When you have your health, then go and find her."

As much as Erik hated to admit it, the old sage was right. A warm wet sensation was spreading along Erik's shoulder just from the effort it took to sit up in bed. The effort it would take to hunt down Yoska's tribe would surely kill him within a week. The longer Erik waited before trying to track the horse tribe lowered the odds he would ever find them, but the odds of finding Nadya were nothing if he died on the journey.

"Who are you?" Erik finally asked, allowing the man to sit beside him and work carefully at the bandage on his shoulder.

"My name is Ranjeet Kalida. I'm a merchant from Osiyan in Rajasthan, India. We are on our way home from trading in Istanbul."

"A merchant? But you're-"

"Old? Blind? Yes, yes," Agreed the man. "I suppose I should have said I was a merchant. My sons run the business now, and their sons with them. These days I am mending more broken bones than broken spice jars and porcelain, but that is the curse of age is it not? This may hurt a bit," he warned, pressing a hot cloth onto Erik's bare shoulder.

"A curse for you, but a blessing for my wife and I," Erik remarked quietly, numb to the pain as he thought of Nadya. That scream… that scream would haunt him until the day he died, even if he somehow managed to find her again.

"Not many would have stopped for a dying man on the road," Ranjeet agreed. "But I raised my boys well. There now. I think you'll be just fine if you rest."

"How did you know I was bleeding?" Erik asked suddenly, realizing that the man had changed his bandage without any prompting in spite of the loss of his vision.

"I smelled the blood on you," the old man explained, as though it were obvious. Placing the bloodied bandages into the bowl of warm water, Ranjeet stood. "Rest now. And try not to worry about your wife. If she is as resilient as you are, she will be just fine."


	12. Chapter 12

Three weeks after Erik had been rescued by the Indian merchants, Erik was on his way to a full recovery. The bullet had damaged his shoulder badly, but his strength was returning from the blood he had lost and his time in the elements. There was a chance his shoulder would never be the same, but that was the least of Erik's concerns.

The nightmares had become so horrible Erik forced himself to stay awake as long as possible. The moment he closed his eyes, his mind was filled with visions of Nadya's horrified look as she recognized her intended husband. Her panicked shriek when she had been grabbed and that last, horrible scream as the bullet ripped through his should replaced the torrent of music that normally haunted his sleep.

When Erik had been forced to relive those moments for three nights, it became clear the only way the nightmares would end was to find her. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and the mask upon his face and had not resorted to petty theft since Nadya had first scolded him for it so many months ago, but it had to be done. In the dead of night after waking in a cold sweat, Erik made his way to the tall Arabian stallions the merchants kept tied nearby. They were beasts unlike any Erik had seen before, with long legs and wide hooves perfectly suited to the soft desert sands he and Nadya had avoided by remaining near the Turkish coast. Chances were Yoska would take his newfound bride west back into Europe, and cutting through the high desert could maybe, just maybe make up for lost time.

Any plan to steal one of the stallions and fly west after Nadya was cut short the minute Erik attempted to saddle the beast. Erik's sharp cry of pain when the weight of the saddle fell onto his damaged shoulder was enough to alert the merchants who quickly came to his aid, fearing they were under attack. When they saw Erik had been trying to steal one of the valuable horses several of the men had demanded he be cast out. Ranjeet Kalida talked the men down, asking what lengths they themselves would take to recover their wives if they were in his place. The matter was dropped, but the men began to tie bells onto the horses' harnesses in case Erik tried to leave again.

Now almost a month after being rescued, Erik rotated his shoulder and fought through the pain in an attempt to stretch out the damaged muscle and return his former strength and flexibility. Every day the arm was able to carry a little more weight, but still he thought it wise not to leave until he could saddle a horse on his own. The ancient Indian man who had been tending to Erik sat beside him with an ease that still impressed Erik.

"You're getting stronger," he remarked, and Erik nodded his agreement.

"Your son Pavan gave me free reign of the tea leaves you're carrying. They're good for the blood."

"Yes, he was very impressed with the concoction you made. He said you were something of a physician."

"Physician, musician, architect, artist, magician," Erik mused. Murderer, thief, failure, he added to himself. "I am whatever benefits me most at the time."

The blind man leaned forward on his elbows, staring out into the void. "There is something I have been meaning to ask you, but the time has never been right. After I ask it, I may have a proposition for you."

Pursing his already too-thin lips, Erik had a feeling he knew what was coming. "You saved my life. You've been feeding and sheltering me for nearly a month now. I am too far in your debt to refuse."

Ranjeet dismissed Erik with a wave of his hand. "Let me ask my question, then we will talk debts. The blood on your clothes when we found you was not entirely yours, was it?"

The manner in which the old man asked made it clear he already suspected the answer Erik was about to give. "No, it wasn't."

"Whose was it?"

"Not my wife's, if that is what you're implying," Erik growled and stood indignantly, but the old man shook his head and patted the place Erik had been sitting before, urging him to return and listen. The masked man hesitated for a moment before sitting beside the man again to explain. "My wife's father promised her hand to another man. We came across the man and his tribe in Turkey. When I had my attention elsewhere, another man grabbed her to separate us. It was that man's blood and mine on my clothes."

Ranjeet seemed satisfied with Erik's answer and sat quiet for another long moment, deep in thought. Erik was beginning to wonder if the old man had nodded off and spoke to break the silence. "You already knew there was more blood than mine," he offered, pulling the leathery sage from his thoughts.

"I suspected as much, yes. Before I offer you my proposition, I am going to tell you several things you will not like to hear, but that you already know. Your wife is lost to you, Erik," the old man said after taking a small breath, but not without sympathy. "Even if she is still alive, you said the man who took her was meant to marry her. He will certainly have done so by now."

Erik glared at the man. "You underestimate my wife. If she doesn't want to marry him –"

"The odds are she has no choice," the man said simply.

"Their marriage won't matter, not after I've found her and taken her back," Erik defended, standing again and moving away. To a man with sight it would have been quite clear the conversation was over, but Ranjeet pressed on.

"Even if you manage to find her after so long, nothing will be the same. Don't for a moment think her new husband won't want to consummate the marriage. Would you ever be able to look at her the same, knowing she's been with another man?"

The image of Nadya in bed with her captor froze Erik in his tracks, making him nearly physically ill. It was a long, heavy moment before he was able to speak at all. "She wouldn't… she would never let him touch her like that," he said, more to himself than to Ranjeet.

"I may be underestimating your wife, Erik, but I feel you are overestimating the power she has over her situation. If she had a choice in any of this, I am sure she would still be with you back in Turkey. Her husband will force her to perform her duties as his wife. He probably already has."

The thought of Yoska forcing himself upon Nadya sickened him even more than the thought of Nadya lying with the man willingly. Erik had seen what rape could do to a woman. It could break her spirit, douse any fire in her eyes and make her numb… Ranjeet was right. No matter how hard Nadya protested, Yoska would only see her as an animal that needed breaking. She meant no more to him than a mare to a stallion.

Erik had not heard Ranjeet approach him, but the gentle hand on his shoulder brought him back out of his thoughts. Standing straight and setting his jaw, he locked away his anguish and spoke in a controlled manner. "What proposition do you have for me?"

"I want you to join us. Permanently. But before you make your decision, you must know who I am referring to, and what will be expected of you."

"You're not really a merchant," Erik said calmly, and the old man looked surprised.

"Who told you?"

"No one," the masked man admitted, moving to sit again. Images of his beautiful wife with that scum of a Gypsy kept swarming in his head. Yoska was broad and strong, making Nadya seem so fragile in comparison. Her lithe frame kicked and struggled before Yoska struck her so hard she could hardly move… Erik forced these thoughts aside as a wave of nausea passed over him. "I've been watching you, and the others. You said you were traveling with your sons and grandsons, but that's not true either. Only about five or six of the men here are your relatives, isn't that right?"

The blind old man looked astonished. "Yes, it is. Do you know what it is we do, then? My sons and I, I mean."

Erik shook his head. "No. I only guessed you weren't merchants when I realized the men here weren't all in your family. If you lied about one thing, you must have lied about others."

"The fact we are liars does not seem to bother you," the old man remarked, curiously.

"All men lie. I would be a hypocrite if I begrudged anyone for masking the truth," he added, suddenly painfully aware of the mask upon his face and of the places it dug into his flesh. With Nadya the mask felt like little more than an extension of his face. Without her it was a painful reminder of everything he was and would never be. "Merchants or not, why should I join you? I have been alone the majority of my life, I can get by just fine."

"I have no doubt of it," Ranjeet promised. There was a moment of hesitation before he continued. "I am a worshiper of Kali, the Goddess of time and change. To my people she represents destruction, annihilation. She is the mother of the entire universe. I can sense her in your heart, My Friend. Your heart is full of pain and anguish. You are filled with such bitterness, such self loathing. It will destroy you if you keep it all inside."

Erik was quiet for a moment. "A bold move, trying to convince a European to join you on a polytheistic premise," he remarked, but the old man was not phased.

"You are a godless man. Otherwise your heart would not be so tormented," Ranjeet retorted. "We're not asking you to believe what we do."

"Who are you, then? Why travel with merchants?"

"I am the jemandar of my family. We are Thuggee. Without our services, Kali would destroy all of mankind," Ranjeet explained.

Glancing over at the man, Erik had to admit he was curious. "You rob merchants in the name of some Goddess?"

"We sacrifice them in her name. But we do take their belongings, so that nothing goes to waste."

Erik stared at the man incredulously. "You _murder_ men in the name of your Goddess? You're mad."

"To spare the rest of mankind!" Ranjeet explained, sensing Erik's change in mood. "It is not as mad as it sounds. The Muslims and Jews have been destroying one another in the name of their God since my ancestors' ancestors were children. The Christians slaughtered countless during their Crusade. We Thugs do not kill out of spite or any disagreement, we spill no blood. The bodies are treated with dignity and respect."

Erik pursed his lips and returned his gaze forward, unsure of what to think; the old man had a point. "Why do you want me to join you? I don't believe in your Goddess. I would not be sacrificing anyone, I would be murdering."

"You will kill others, or you will kill yourself," Ranjeet explained calmly. The sentence was so honest, and its speaker so unbiased Erik was rendered speechless. The old man was right. Erik left nothing but destruction in his wake. Everywhere he went, someone got hurt. His mother, his master's daughter in Italy who had fallen to her death at the sight of him. Even Nadya… because of him, her family had disowned her. Things had been calm, wonderful even for over a year and now she was gone, facing her husband who would undoubtedly be angry that she had run away. Had she simply married him as intended, her life would be far better off.

Maybe this was a way to focus the damage. By destroying with a purpose, by giving the darkness in his heart and mind an outlet, maybe he could finally gain some measure of control over the course of his life.

And maybe when the chaos in his life came under his own control there would be a way to find Nadya and take her back.

"I will join you on one condition."

"Name it," Ranjeet offered.

"Any Gypsy we come across is mine," Erik said, the menace in his voice causing every heard on the back of the old man's neck to stand on end.

Ranjeet Kalida had been surrounded by death his entire adult life. He had taken more lives than he could count, and in spite of his best effort to help his victims die a quiet death had shed considerable blood. Many men would have called the old Thuggee a monster… but in that moment, Ranjeet began to doubt the wisdom behind his offer. If Ranjeet Kalida was a monster, what was this dark-hearted man to become?


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** So, my computer crashed. I have been living off my smartphone for the past month or so, and it was driving me insane. Fortunately right after my computer finally died on me, I got a job and managed to save up enough in a few short weeks for a new computer. It's refurbished, but runs pretty well. Here's to several long, happy years of use! Anyway, I had about half of this chapter written when my computer died. It wound up being a happy accident, since I like the way this turned out better. To those with a weak stomach, be warned - this chapter is pretty heavy. But fret not, because a certain curious Gypsy may be back next chapter. ;)

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><p>"You've gone too far this time, Erik!"<p>

Nadir Khan was not like the other Persian nobles given titles to satisfy their egos. The Daroga of Mazenderan was a firm but generous leader and a sharp yet unbiased detective. He kept the streets of the royal city as safe as he could manage given limited resources alloted by the Sultan and his horrible little wife. Under his watchful eye, crime in Mazenderan had dropped nearly three quarters – that is, until he had been sent to fetch this curious 'magician'.

To most of the palace, Erik was simply another of the Sultana's playthings. Like the rose gardens, exotic cats, and lithe dancers and acrobats from around the world, Erik had been fetched for the sole purpose of entertaining the Sultana and her harem. Erik's talent as magician was said to be unsurpased by any man alive. Many of the Daroga's more superstitious men fearing the masked man's powers were supernatural and marked him as a demon among men, but Nadir knew otherwise. Over the past several months of observing the man, it was quite clear to the Daroga that this Magician was in fact just that; a man.

Erik was a curious man at that. He was bold to the point of arrogance, frequently defying the Sultana without fear of reprimand. Unlike most who worked to please the Sultana, Erik worked for the rewards. He worked for power and the wealth that came along with it, but held no fear at all of the death Nadir was certain would find him should he continue to treat the Sultana with such brazen audacity.

It was a sort of bravery the Daroga was familiar with, although he had never seen it in a man so young – Erik simply did not fear death. The man had nothing to lose, and nothing to live for. A part of Nadir wondered if that was what had drawn him to the masked magician in the first place, for Erik certainly had not invited him to be a friend in these past few months. Certainly something about this strange foreigner had drawn the Daroga to him in spite of his numerous attempts to keep the world at arm's length.

"I'm not in the mood for one of your lectures, Daroga," Erik intoned dryly. There was something different about the man today, Nadir thought. Normally he towered over Nadir, who was quite tall by Persian standards. There was a certain regalness about Erik that had vanished now as the masked magician sat gazing into an untouched glass of wine as deeply red as the blood Erik had spilled that day. Nadir was torn between feeling priveleged that such a private man had let him inside his chambers at all while he was in such a state, but the utter disgust over the day's events prevailed.

"I don't give a damn what sort of mood you're in! You used my men to slaughter more than a score of innocent –"

"Not ONE of them was innocent!" Erik bellowed, his voice filling the room like thunder as he stood defiantly. "Man and woman, all of them deserve to rot in hellfire for what they did! I damn you with them if you dare to tell me otherwise."

Nadir stood firm, though he knew quite well what the magician was capable of when enraged.

"Erik, I have turned a blind eye to many of your crimes," the Daroga said evenly. "I know you are responsible for the assassinations of men who oppose the Sultan and Allah only knows what wicked things the Sultana has you doing for her, but this is something I cannot ignore."

In smooth, violent motion Erik threw the glass of wine from the table against the wall where it shattered, staining the stone blood red. Grasping at his head Erik let out a pitiful sob as he sank to the floor, unable to carry the weight of his anguish. Nadir's eyes widened at the man's display and a quiet sense of dread began to build in his stomach as Erik spoke, hardly more than a whisper.

"Arrest me then, Daroga. Send me to the gallows. I won't fight you."

Nadir ventured forward to pull Erik to his feet. True to his word Erik did not fight, but the man with the strength of a tiger could hardly keep his feet under him as Nadir helped him into a chair. This man, this monster Nadir had once regretted ever bringing to Persia looked like little more than a heartbroken child as he held his face in his hands and drew a shaking breath. "I… I was married once," Erik admitted quietly, and though this news alone was shocking enough Nadir knew better than to express his surprise. "The man I killed today is the man who stole her from me."

When Erik grew quiet again, Nadir spoke. "Tell me what happened today, Erik."

"If you have any shred of decency, Daroga, you will save the interrogation for another day," Erik warned half-heartedly, but Nadir only shook his head.

"I'm not asking a the Daroga of Mazenderan, I am asking as a friend. Tell me what happened."

Erik pulled his face away from his hands and stared at the man, thoughts completely unreadable behind the dark leather concealing his face. After a long moment of silence, the magician nodded to himself as though giving himself permission to speak.

"My wife, Nadya, was a gypsy. She was meant to marry a man from another tribe. He took her from me nearly six years ago," Erik explained, jaw tight. "I should have gone after her. I should never have listened to that old fool."

When Nadir raised a brow, Erik reached into his cloak and pulled out a thin string of catgut that caused the Daroga's stomach to turn. "A Punjab lasso. So the rumors are true, you really were a Thug."

Erik nodded. "The Gypsies who took my wife from me shot me. I was rescued by an elderly Thuggee leader and convinced to stay rather than pursue her. He used my bitterness and my anger to persuade me to stay even after I had healed from my wounds. As it turns out, I am rather gifted in the art of strangulation. I even grew to enjoy it," Erik admitted quietly. "The power was intoxicating. Addictive. The Thugs even indulged my requests to go off of our regular route when Gypsies were rumored to be nearby, so that I might look for my wife. She was never among them. I would kill the leader and anyone who tried to resist, and left the women and child unharmed. I didn't leave the Thugs until the old man died, about a year ago."

"What was different about today? Why murder the entire troupe?" Nadir pressed, trying not to think of how damaged the man must be to have ever enjoyed strangingly his fellow man.

"They were from the troupe that stole my wife. Her husband Yoska was among them. You should have seen the looks on their faces, Daroga!" Erik exclaimed, leaning back in his chair with his lips curled back in an ugly grin. "They recognized me. They thought I was a ghost come to send them to hell, the superstitious bastards. And Yoska… Yoska's face was scared. My sweet, beautiful wife struck him with a branding iron before she fled, God bless her."

"So she is alive? And she's free," Nadir deduced. "How long ago did she escape?"

Erik's eyes immediately fell to the table in front of him and did not raise again as he spoke. "A day after they killed the baby."

Nadir's eyes grew large, but Erik's never left the table as he continued to speak in a low, even tone. "She never told me she was pregnant. I don't blame her for not telling me. I don't know what I would have thought back then. We were so young, so free. I had never been happier before, and I will never be so happy again. She managed to convince Yoska the baby was his until she was born, but the baby had my face… She had my face, Daroga. I'm the reason she was thrown into the fire," he lamented, suddenly wracked with grief.

Disgust and anguish filled Nadir as he stood, head reeling at the very image. Erik sobbed from his chair, unable to contain his sorrow. "I didn't know, Daroga. She never told me she was with child. I never would have stayed with the Thugs if I knew. I would have found her no matter what. The baby would –"

"Don't do this to yourself, Erik," the darker man said, firmly. "The guilt will kill you."

"What do you know of guilt, Daroga?" Erik spat. "My child, my _child_ is dead because she was cursed with my face! My poor, sweet, beautiful Nadya watched her daughter burn!"

"And my wife is dead because of the son I gave her," Nadir retorted. "Believe me, I know more than my share of guilt. Grief is healthy, but the guilt _will_ kill you."

Again, Nadir sat beside the masked magician. Without restraint or hesitation, he clasped a hand on the man's shoulder and shook him some both to comfort and to be sure he held Erik's attention. "Erik… my friend. We are only men. We are limited."

After a long, unsteady breath Erik nodded and the Daroga clasped his shoulder again. Briefly he stood and fetched two glasses and the bottle of wine Erik had started but never finished. Placing one glass before Erik and one in front of himself, he filled them both to the brim and drank deeply from his glass. The mask shifted some upon Erik's face, and Nadir thought he could almost see an amused look upon the man's lips before he spoke. "I thought your religion forbade drinking?"

Nadir dismissed Erik's objection with a wave and drank again. "You could use it, and it is rude to allow a man to drink alone."

At this admission, Erik did allow himself a small sound of amusement and drank from his glass. "I don't regret killing them," he said after a long silence. Nadir took another drink of his wine and merely nodded. Although he would never say so aloud, Nadir knew he would have likely done the same thing in the Magician's stead.

"You said your wife hit him with a branding iron?"

Erik nodded. "She fought him like a madwoman when he took the baby from her, they told me. She was always strong, and stubborn as a mule. I'm glad he didn't take that from her too. I was terrified he would break her."

"Any woman who could marry you would have to be unbreakable," Nadir remarked, and Erik made a quiet sound of agreement.

"From what I understand, the next night he woke up and she was standing over him with a hot iron. He doesn't remember much after that."

"I would imagine not. Did they tell you how old the baby was?"

"Two weeks, to the day. Why they waited so long, I may never know. My mother used to say the worst mistake she made was not tossing me into the fire the night I was born."

The casualness of the remark made the Daroga shudder. "You have done horrible things, Erik, make no mistake of that. But you are not a bad man. Misguided, perhaps. But not bad. Your mother would have been as wrong to throw you into the fire as this man was to throw your daughter. And now your wife is free again. Perhaps you will see her again someday," Nadir offered up hopefully.

Swirling the wine in its glass, Erik felt sick to his stomach at the thought of his child, his newborn daughter without a face consumed by fire. But Nadir was right. Maybe the death had not been in vain. Nadya was free, and for all Erik knew alive and well somewhere in the world. As long as that was true, there was a chance he would find her again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's note:** Not thrilled with this chapter, but I feel like the story was drifting from where I wanted to go with it. This was the best way I could think of to steer things back on course. Another heavy chapter.

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><p>The decent into madness was nothing like Erik had imagined it would be. It was not the quick, dark detachment from reality he had induced within the confines of a mirrored room in the desert palace of Mazandaran. It was not the raving speech and hallucinations of a mind destroyed by disease with age.<p>

The madness that fell upon Erik after the rosy hours of Mazandaran was of a far more subtle and sinister nature. It was warm and seductive, an inviting comfort in as days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years.

For years he had been praised for his abilities as a murderer, contracted to build entire palaces riddled with trap doors and tortures that would turn the stomach of any ordinary man. The power Erik had earned from the breath he stole and the blood he spilled turned out to be little more than a house of cards; as soon as the palace was completed the Sultan ordered his deadly architect and prized assassin killed, fearing Erik's loyalties would one day change and some other king in a distant land would contract The Magician to tell the secrets of Mazandaran. The Daroga, Erik's conscience and only remaining tether to sanity amidst all the bloodshed had caught wind of the assassination and smuggled The Magician out of Persia with considerable risk to his own life.

This act of kindness had in one swift act saved Erik's life and sealed his fate. Never again would he be accepted, let alone revered among men. Every day he traveled west alone was another day Erik pined for the praise of the Sultana, another day he dreamed of the delight on her face as he managed to best several of her strongest eunuchs with nothing more than a string of catgut.

Years became a blur of time at once as quick as a blink but painfully long. Upon returning to the country of his birth, the one place in the world that should have welcomed him with open arms, Erik soon found himself retreating into the bowels of an Opera House he had designed and helped build with his own hands. The completion of the Opera and the labyrinth of cellars below provided Erik with a safe haven from the world of man.

Solitude is surely the mistress of madness. This was not a reality Erik had considered during his time in the house by the underground Lake. It was not something he considered even as that quiet, nagging voice in his mind grew as loud and violent as the music, driving him both create and destroy with intense ferocity. How could he possibly be mad when there was a young ingénue who cared for him so? A lovely woman with a voice as pure and untainted as her mind, waiting to be molded. Why should she not love him? A woman had loved him before; it was not so impossible a feat.

It was not until Erik awoke to the sound of two faint yet familiar voices whispering nearby that Erik began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the years of solitude had actually driven him mad.

"He's doing better today. I wouldn't be surprised if he wakes soon," the female voice said in the careful, well studied French of a non-native speaker. "Let me take your coat."

The voice that answered was male, and more thickly accented. "You are a miracle worker, Madame Biaram. That man has more lives than a cat…" the voice paused briefly before continuing. "He's waking. Erik, you old fool, have you been eavesdropping?"

When Erik opened his eyes he found himself in a warm, but unfamiliar room. It was modestly furnished and comfortable, clearly in a small and well lived in home. The view of the room was quickly obscured by the familiar figure of an aging Persian man, but the younger woman behind him with skin and hair nearly as dark drew Erik's attention even as the Daroga berated him.

"What were you thinking? Just because some girl young enough to be your _daughter_ was in love with another man is no reason to try and kill yourself. You're lucky I found you and had the strength to pull you out of that so-called house you live in. Not that you weigh more than a sack of flour –"

But Erik heard none of the Daroga's scolding. The dark-haired woman was restless with nerves, he could tell. She made every excuse not to look at him as she folded a set of linens before retreating to the hearth to retrieve a kettle hanging over the fire.

Noticing Erik's gaze, Nadir glanced over his shoulder towards the hearth before looking back down on his friend. "I see you've noticed our hostess."

Upon being mentioned, the dark-haired woman glanced in the direction of the men in her home. Her eyes were large and as dark as her hair, filled with curiosity and intelligence. Soft lines were beginning to form upon once smooth skin, the products of years of laughing, frowning, and bearing witness to both the beauty and horrors the world had to offer. But those eyes… those soft dark eyes had not changed.

"…Nadya?"

A hint of a smile played on the woman's mouth as she poured water from the kettle into a bowl and brought it forward. "Erik. It's been a while."

"Twenty years," Erik agreed, hearing them speak as though he were little more than an observer. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I live here," she explained patiently, as though to a child. Nadir stepped away to allow her to sit on the edge of the bed and place a steaming cloth on his head. "Monsieur Khan brought you after he found you."

"And how do you know the Daroga?" Erik demanded with a glare at the Persian man still standing beside the bed, although the man merely chuckled.

"The Daroga was asking around Paris for you. I was afraid all of his questions would bring you unwanted attention, so I sought him out and asked him some questions of my own before I told him where you were hiding," Nadya explained calmly.

It was at that moment Erik realized the warm, damp cloth on his forehead was touching flesh and not porcelain. The panic must have reached his eyes, for Nadya spoke before he could even protest. "There's nothing to be afraid of here, Erik. You're among friends," she promised, but even the small smile that came to her lips could not hide the concern in her eyes.

"Where is my mask?" Erik demanded, sitting up so sharply Nadya barely had time to draw the cloth away from his head.

"Erik, please lay down," she protested, attempting to guide him back down onto the thin mattress but with little luck.

Nadir spoke in the even but firm tones he had mastered as the chief of police of Mazenderan. "Listen to Madame Biaram, you are not well."

"You're damn right I am not well, Daroga. I must be completely and utterly mad!" Erik exclaimed.

"An understatement if I've ever heard one," the Persian muttered to Nadya, who frowned deeply as she continued trying to press Erik back down into the bed. When he spoke again, it was plenty loud enough for Erik to hear, and far more commanding. "If you don't lie down you're going to be sick. You've been unconscious for nearly three days. It was all this pour woman could do to pour broth down your ugly gullet, you're likely to faint if you keep this up."

"Then hand over your knife and I'll put us all out of this misery."

"Enough, both of you!" Nadya snapped, causing both men to silence and glance at her in surprise. "Monsieur Khan, calling a sick man names isn't going to help any. Erik, all three of us know if you wanted to kill yourself you could have done a better job of it the first time around. I know there is a lot that needs to be said, but now isn't the time."

Erik looked for a moment as though he was going to protest, but a hard look for Nadya caused him to reconsider and finally he moved to lie down again. Nadir's shoulders dropped some at the mild scolding.  
>"My apologies. It hasn't been an easy week for any of us, I suppose. If you have things under control here, I think I'll be going," he offered, and Nadya nodded.<p>

"Yes, of course. Thank you for stopping by. Will you still be coming for dinner?"

"It would be a pleasure," Nadir promised with a polite little bow that brought the younger woman a smile. Once she had seen her guest to the door she lingered a while in the sitting room, nervous to return to the bedroom.

Resolving her nerve, Nadya took a small breath and returned to see to Erik. She wasn't at all surprised to find him sitting up again. "Really Erik, you're going to make yourself sick."

"You said you met the Daroga when he was asking around about me. That could only have been when he first came to Paris," Erik reasoned, ignoring her comment completely.

Placing another log upon the fire, Nadya nodded. "It was. About eight years ago, I think."

"You've been in Paris for eight years?" Erik asked, astonished. Nadya shook her head, but was unable to meet his eyes.

"Ten," she admitted quietly, refolding the linens Erik suspected she must have folded three or four times already.

"And you knew I was here? You knew enough about me to warn Nadir to keep out of my business?"

Finally Nadya looked up, but there was a twinge of amusement in her eyes. "I knew you were here, but I certainly didn't warn Monsieur Khan to stay away. After he told me how he knew you and that he was curious to know what had become of you after you fled his country, I told him where he could find you. I was surprised when he guessed who I was," she added, testing the waters. After so many years, how could they possibly begin to talk about what had happened?

Erik merely shook his head, holding his face in his hands. "You're a hallucination," he said finally. "The woman I knew would have come to me. She would have told me she was here."

"I wanted to, Erik!" Nadya exclaimed, looking hurt. "For _years_ I thought you were dead. I watched you die! If you think you're hallucinating now, imagine how I felt when I realized you were here. I kept telling myself it was just my imagination until they began to build the Opera Garnier. I recognized it from the drawings you showed me once, and I knew the ghost of you I was seeing in the shadows was actually you.

"How did we meet?" Erik demanded suddenly, and Nadya could only stare at him in disbelief before folding her arms self consciously.

"You really think I'm some figment of your imagination, don't you?"

"How did we meet?" He demanded again, drawing his hands away from his face to stand and pace around the bedroom, inspecting it as though to find something, anything that might give away that he was still asleep and dreaming.

Nadya's jaw tightened in a strange, unhappy mix of hurt and annoyance, but she answered. "You rescued me from a pair of men who caught me away from my family one day. You killed one of them and the other ran off. I invited you to share a meal with us."

"What country were we in when Yoska took you from me?" He asked, inspecting a small painting on the wall.

When he was met with silence, Erik glanced back over his shoulder to see Nadya holding herself even more closely. "Turkey. You were going to buy me a horse. None of this is going to prove to you I'm real, Erik," she pleaded quietly. "You already know the answers. Even if I were a dream, my answers would be the same."

"Then tell me something I don't know," Erik announced after a moment of consideration, for her logic was solid. "Tell me about the baby."

When every muscle in Nadya's body tensed, it became clear this was a question she had feared. "Please lie back down, Erik. I have a pot of soup on in the kitchen, I'll bring you a bowl."

"You were always far better at asking questions than answering them," Erik remarked, though he felt a twinge of guilt for being so flippant.

"You didn't ask a question," Nadya retorted, moving out of the room in a hurry.

Much to her dismay but certainly not to her surprise, Erik followed. "Fine. What about the baby?"

"I… How did you know there was a baby?" She asked quietly as she pulled a pot off the fire and removed the lid. The smell hit Erik hard; he hadn't realized how hungry he was until the earthy smell of boiling roots and mushrooms filled the room.

"Answer my question, then I'll answer yours."

Even after she had ladled the broth and vegetables into two bowls, Nadya remained where she stood. She couldn't face him, not now.

"I fought him off, at first. I told him I'd rather die than consummate the marriage. I suppose that was a little dramatic, wasn't it?" She mused, clearly not expecting an answer. "He was surprisingly patient. You were dead, so I didn't even have the hope that you would come for me. I guess he thought I would come around on my own. Anyway, I missed my monthly twice… and I knew. I hadn't started showing yet, so there was still a chance he would think the baby was his. I seduced him one night, and told him I was pregnant the next month. He believed me, until she was born. She came nearly three weeks late, and I was in labor for three nights and two days. In my mind, the worst thing that could have happened was that she would have been born on time or early, with pale skin and light eyes. I had made up excuses for all of it. Stress, strange food, some long-dead relative with European blood."

Nadya's voice began to waiver, and she wiped fiercely at her eyes. It had been so long ago… _so_ long ago, yet it bled like a fresh wound on her heart. "I never… I never expected she would be born with your face. I had no explanation. They had all heard the legend, they knew there was a reason you wore a mask. When my daughter was born, they finally knew what your mask was hiding."

There was a long period of silence during which Nadya composed herself enough to turn and carry the two bowls to the table, placing one down and carrying the second with her to her seat. Still she could not meet his eyes. "He was too stunned to beat me for lying to him. I don't remember much in the days that followed, except that for the first time since I watched that man point a gun at you and fire… I was happy," she admitted, and Erik watched as the ghost of a smile played on her lips. "I had a daughter. _Our_ daughter. There, right there in my arms was a little piece of you and a little piece of me, swaddled in a blanket. As long as I had her, you weren't dead. Not completely."

Silence fell over them again, and that ghost of a smile was gone from Nadya's face. Several times it looked as though she were going to speak but simply could not find her voice. When she did finally speak, her words were hardly more than a broken whisper. "I was asleep with her in my arms when he came into my tent. I was only half awake when he pulled her out of my arms, but as soon as he had her I was wide awake and screaming even louder than she was. The panic… the panic in her little voice…" Nadya's shoulders shook as she sobbed, unable to contain her grief at the memory. "There had been a council. They decided she was cursed. A monster you and I had created by sleeping together without a proper marriage, and that she… that she had to be destroyed. I fought and I fought, but they held me and he _burned_ her!" She sobbed, digging her nails into her arms in anguish.

To Nadya's astonishment, she found herself held tight in Erik's arms for the first time in two decades. She clung to him and cried until her throat was raw and her eyes were swollen and red. Even after the tears stopped flowing her body shook uncontrollably. It was all she could do to fight off the waves of nausea that had surfaced with the memory, but she forced herself to breathe deeply and steadily against Erik's chest.

His smell had changed, she noticed with a twinge of regret. He now smelled… expensive. Like flowers and good wine instead of the earthy smell she had carried with her all these years. But not all of it was different. He still carried on him the smell of wood and something else, something utterly male and uniquely his own that filled her with nostalgia.

"I shouldn't have made you say it," Erik muttered against her hair, and Nadya wondered for a moment if he had been crying too. When she looked up at him his bare face was damn and the yellow of his eyes was stained red and she knew in some way he was also mourning the loss of the child he had never known. "I killed him. I had them all killed, but I killed him myself," he said.

It should have repulsed her, Nadya knew. The news that this man who held her so close had taken a life, had been responsible for so many deaths should have turned her stomach… but she smiled. She had seen Erik kill before, after all; it might well have saved her life. And he had certainly killed before they had ever met, but this murder was different. Hell, it wasn't murder at all, but justice. "Good," was all she could say, and Erik nodded his agreement.


	15. Chapter 15

The remainder of the day was surprisingly civil, Nadya was pleased to find. Enjoyable, even. She had spent the several days since Nadir had shown up at her doorstep with Erik only barely alive in his arms first worrying for his health. Once it was clear he was going to recover, she began worrying about what they could possibly have to say to one another after spending nearly ten times as long apart as they had known one another.

Now that Erik could stomach the fact she was real and not some figment of his imagination and many of the painful parts of their shared past had been aired, conversation was relatively easy. Nadya sat with her soup untouched as they talk, though she was pleased Erik had finished all of his without complaint. "I spent a few years traveling again," she explained when he asked what she had done after leaving Yoska and his troupe. "I saved every bit of money I could and planned to buy a place to live one day. I loved the inn we stayed in, do you remember it?"

"Of course I do. It was our honeymoon," Erik mused, and Nadya's dark cheeks flushed some as she nodded.

"Yes, I suppose it was. It never would have occurred to me to settle down and find a place like this to live if it weren't for that stay. I just… never understood why anyone would want to stay in one place when there was so much of the world to see. After that stay though, I used to daydream about it all the time. You and I would find a piece of land, build a house and just… never leave," she admitted, dark eyes betraying her nostalgia. "Anyway, I thought about settling down in Italy, but it never felt as right as that inn in Turkey had. There were too many bad memories in Turkey to go back, so I kept moving west. When I came to Paris, I knew this was where I would stay. I had made enough money to rent this place from the baker below for fifteen years. I paid him upfront, so he stays out of my way and I stay out of his. It works well."

"I'm surprised a native is renting to a Gypsy. A Gypsy woman no less," Erik remarked, and Nadya nodded.

"He took a little convincing. If I hadn't had so much money upfront, I don't think he would have agreed," she admitted, studying the maskless man across the table from her. "You know, I think that was the strangest thing about being alone once I left Yoska. When I was with you, we were our own country, our own people. Even Yoska's troupe viewed me as an outsider. Not quite a Gaje, but I was never really a Roma to them. When I left I was suddenly a Gypsy again, with all the stigma that came with it. There was no explaining otherwise."

Erik snorted some, though Nadya could tell his disapproval was not with her. She knew he had known his fair share of stigma. "Monsieur Khan told me a lot about you," Nadya revealed, pushing her bowl towards him; even though her grief had passed, the memory had upset her stomach far too much to risk eating.

Accepting the bowl, Erik turned it in his palms to absorb its warmth, but did not eat. "I'm sure you two get along well. He may be the only person I've ever met who is as painfully nosy and inquisitive as you are," he remarked. To his surprise, Nadya smiled.

"He is, isn't he? When he realized who I was and that I knew you, we sat and talked the entire day and through the night, clear until sunrise. I'm not sure which of us asked the other more questions."

Erik was so used to his emotions being carefully hidden behind a mask that Nadya's gentle laugh surprised him. "And to think I spent the better part of a year trying to figure out what you were thinking just by looking at your chin," she mused, more to herself than to him. "Monsieur Khan is a friend, that's all. Meeting him was almost like meeting a brother-in-law. We talk about you for the most part."

Having nearly forgotten the nakedness of his face, Erik touched at the raw and ragged flesh of his cheek self consciously, but Nadya reached across the table to pull his hand away. The sensation was electric, and when she looked directly upon his face there was no pity or judgment in her eyes, simply honest concern.

Nadya must have felt the shock as well, for she quickly pulled her hand back into her lap and stood to put a kettle over the fire for tea. "I'm sorry things didn't work between you and that lovely young woman," she remarked conversationally, still facing away from Erik where he sat at the table.

Erik wasn't sure what hurt his heart more, the mention of Christine or that Nadya knew about her and did not seem at all bothered. "So you heard."

Nodding, Nadya moved across the kitchen to fetch a small bag of dried tea leaves. "Monsieur Khan kept me informed. Nearly every time he went to check on you he came to visit me to tell me how you were, what you were doing. She's so very beautiful," Nadya admitted quietly. "And she seems very sweet. Monsieur Khan may have disapproved, but I hoped the best for you."

"…When could you have met Christine?" Erik asked, scarred brow knit tightly.

"Monsieur Khan took me to the gala for my birthday. She was truly stunning."

Erik opened his mouth as though to speak, but was unable to find words. Fortunately the kettle began to sing, and Nadya rose quickly to take it off the fire onto a tray, bringing it to the table to serve them. She poured two cups and though there was cream and sugar on the tray kept her tea ungarnished. A long silence fell between them, broken by Erik's voice so quiet it might have been the rustle of a curtain on the breeze if his lips had not been moving.

"She pales in comparison to you."

Nadya held the teacup to her lips to hide her disbelieving frown, eyes glued to the table. Finally she lowered the cup, holding it between her palms. "That's… very sweet of you to say," she said at last, almost as quietly.

"You don't believe me," Erik demanded, his eyes imploring hers to meet them. With every human being he had ever met, he had been desperate to hide his face, but now he wanted nothing more than for her to look at him, to convince her of his honesty.

"No, Erik, I don't," Nadya admitted, finally pulling her eyes away from the table and looking directly at him. His naked face might be easier to read than what little was revealed by the mask she remembered but she remained unconvinced, eyes filled with hurt although her voice was level. "She left you for another man and you tried to end your own life. Monsieur Khan told me how he found you. He said cities ravaged by war had seen less damage than your home, that your furnishings were little more than splinters and that your porcelain mask was nearly reduced to dust."

Nadir had mentioned the state of Erik's mask in passing, but Nadya knew its destruction was far more significant than the old Persian knew. The Daroga was sure Erik had the capability of ending his own life if he so desired, and that the fact he lived was proof enough Erik had not truly wanted to die. He was wrong. Erik had never intended to wake from sleep brought on by the obscene amount of pills he had swallowed the night Nadir found him convulsing on the floor of his house by the underground lake, and the broken mask was proof.

The few hours Erik sat in her home with a naked face was the longest stretch Nadya had ever seen his face bare. He had always been loath to remove his mask even at her request. Even when they made love his face often remained covered, though the black leather would dig into her lip and distract her from their frantic kisses. It had been his lifeline, his security, and so Nadya had come to accept it as a part of his face. Another of his many eccentricities. That he had replaced the hard black leather with a finer porcelain mask made no difference; its destruction had left Erik without his lifeline, something he never would have tolerated had he ever intended to wake.

"When you were taken from me, I couldn't sleep! I couldn't concentrate, I couldn't eat, I couldn't _breathe!_ Your scream rang in my head every time I closed my eyes! Nadir may have told you about my days with him in Mazandaran and maybe he even told you what little I told him of my time in India, but he has no idea how much losing you destroyed me, so neither do you!" Erik exclaimed indignantly. "I prayed to God, to Kali, to Lucifer, to anyone and anything I thought might be listening to bring you back to me. Every night I heard your screams in my head, I wished that bullet had killed me because being dead would have been better than living without you. But I wasn't dead. I lived, and you were still somewhere in the world. If I had killed myself, there was no hope at all of seeing you again. So I lived. I kept breathing, I began to sleep, and I began to eat. Instead of dying, I took the lives of others. I longed for you so much it drove me to murder, Nadya! I killed every Gypsy man I came across, and when I crossed paths with Yoska I made damn sure he suffered as much as I did before I killed him too."

Nadya's jaw tightened in an effort to keep from betraying her heartache; she had suffered the same pains in the months after she believed Erik had died and knew all too well the hurt he described… but she had never in her life been tempted to replace him the way Erik had replaced her. "You loved her very much," was all she could say. "I'm sorry she hurt you."

"What do you want from me, Nadya?" Erik demanded harshly, standing. "I gave up on ever finding you. I had given up on ever belonging to anyone again, on quelling the loneliness… the girl worshiped the ground I walked on. She thought I was an Angel! _Me_, an Angel! Of course I loved her."

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Nadya pointed out gently, although his words pained her more than she let on.

"Then _what do you want from me_?" Erik demanded again, bringing his hand down onto the table so hard it rattled the dishes on the tea tray. Now it was Nadya's turn to stand defiantly.

"Don't speak to me that way in my home, Erik! You are so selfish, believing the entire world wants nothing more than for you to be miserable. I want you to be happy. You _deserve_ to be happy. If you were happy with her, that is what I want for you."

"I was happy with you. I was never happier than when I was with you."

Nadya opened her arms and turned her palms to the ceiling. "I'm right here, Erik. I've been here for ten years. If you were ever looking for me, you weren't looking very hard," she accused, though she instantly regretted her words.

Erik's mouth came crashing down on hers so quickly and with so much force she was certain her lips would bruise and her breath would be stolen from her lungs. Her knees grew weak as he gripped her shoulders as though she might be snatched away as she had been twenty years prior. Every piece of clothing was shed even before the pair could stumble into bed, too desperate to express what words could not say to even bother hiding beneath the sheets.

Littering Erik's naked face with kisses, Nadya reveled in the weight of him as he lay over her, spent. "I missed you," he murmured. She had always loved his voice, and the way it was able to contain even more emotion than the mask had hidden.

"I missed you too," she swore, holding him close. When he pulled away to keep from crushing her she curled against him, unwilling to let him go. They lay together like this for what must have been hours when Erik finally spoke again.

"When is Nadir due for dinner?"

"Seven," she said, wrinkling her nose and stretching out against him shamelessly. "I should probably start cooking."

When Nadya leaned over to kiss him Erik snaked an arm around her waist to keep her from pulling away as he returned the kiss enticingly. He could already feel her heart hammering in her chest when she broke the kiss to murmur against his mouth. "He won't mind if dinner is on the table a little late."


	16. Chapter 16

"This is a terrible idea," Nadir pressed for what Nadya counted as the fifth time.

"Monsieur Khan… Nadir," she amended, keeping her tone patient in spite of her growing anxiety. "Erik needs his things. I can't ask him to leave the apartment without at least something suitable for his face."

"I don't see why you have to be here, though. I'm telling you, it isn't something befitting for a woman to see, especially not you."

Nadir was lingering just outside of an old set piece well below the main portion of the Opera. Ever curious, Nadya peered around him. "Is this it?" she deduced with a small frown. "It looks just like everything else down here."

Muttering to himself in a language she didn't recognize, Nadir nodded and slipped down carefully into the darkness below. It seemed so… ordinary, so undisturbed. The entire Opera was a world unlike any Nadya had ever seen, but these passages so far down were even more alien still. She wondered at the irony of trees painted upon sheets of wood and marveled at the beauty of entire forests painted upon heavy canvas. It was as strange, beautiful, and wonderfully exciting as exploring any new path out in the world.

As different as this world was, she had to admit it reminded her strongly of Erik. For years she had wondered how different the man Erik had become would be compared to the boy she had married. Truly that curiosity was what had driven her to join Nadir down under the Opera in search of Erik's home; although the Persian had told her much of what he knew about Erik, she knew of no better way to learn the sort of man he had become than to explore his sanctuary.

So why did the darkness Nadir had vanished into make her so nervous?

Dropping into Nadir's waiting arms, Nadya's mouth formed in an unspoken gasp at the even more bizarre world she had fallen into; the world above contained forests of canvas and paint, but this world contained a forest of reflections and illusions. A single tree barren of any leaves stood ominously in the center of the chamber, it's reflection cast on the seven mirrors that stood intact.

"But Erik hates mirrors," she mused, approaching one of the tall sheets in wonder. Although she owned no mirrors herself out of habit, she knew the principle behind them well and her own reflection did not appear until she stood nearly flush against the glass. "We stayed in an inn once right after we were married. He covered the mirror in the wash room with his vest," she remembered, inspecting her own reflection.

The last time she had seen herself so clearly had been the morning she and Erik had awoken in that little in Turkey. She could remember thinking how old she felt in comparison to the girl she had grown up seeing in the reflections of windows and streams. Eighteen years old, and only recently made a bride… looking at herself now, Nadya could have laughed at the memory of that girl in the mirror. She was certainly no old crone just yet… but her forty years of life had certainly begun to show. More than a few strands of her thick dark hair had lightened to an ashen gray, the lines her face made when she smiled and frowned became more and more deep and permanent every year, and while she had always curved about the breast and hips her body had never been as taught as it was when she had met Erik after the baby was born.

Nadir's voice interrupted her thoughts. "The man is a genius," he said simply, apparently mistaking Nadya's inspection of her own reflection for her more traditional curiosity. "I'm sure this is the same as the forest he built in Persia. He would have made the mirrors himself, and aligned them perfectly so that each mirror reflected only what he wanted it to."

"But why down here?" Nadya asked, turning now to face the only thing shattering the illusion of the underground forest – nearby where she stood lay the shattered remnants of what she was certain had once been a mirror identical to the other seven, enclosing the tree and its infinite reflections. "Why make something like this?"

Nadya wandered over to the opening in the room of mirrors to peer into the room beyond and frowned deeply. The Persian warned her the house would be a disaster, but it was still difficult to see firsthand. Clearly the room had once been lovely, furnished with dark woods and rich fabrics she could never have hoped to afford. Now it looked like a castle ravaged by war, with splintered wood and broken glass strewn carelessly about. It was hard to believe anyone had lived her just a week before.

When Nadir remained quiet as he pushed past her into the tattered bedroom, Nadya pursed her lips; as much as she had come to enjoy the older man's company, there were times she very much resented being treated like she was too delicate to hear the answers she was seeking. "Monsieur Khan, why does Erik have a room of mirrors at his house like this?" she asked again, the tone in her voice making it very clear that she was expecting an answer whether he thought it was appropriate or not.

Nadir sighed in defeat and began picking around the room young Christine Daae had once been held captive in as he spoke. "The Sultana was constantly demanding more and more extravagant things from Erik. Part of it was curiosity, I suppose - no matter how strange the things she asked of Erik he was always able to find some clever way to make them by illusion, but her demands were mostly sinister in nature. He was arrogant and challenged her openly, and she was looking for a way to humiliate him. The day he could not deliver one of her demands, she would have him publicly humiliated and executed in revenge," he explained to the wide-eyed Gypsy.

"One particularly hot day, Erik was entertaining her and several of her handmaidens when she demanded Erik make them an oasis, a place that would cool them and shade them from the desert sun. Erik asked for one week, and in that time developed a room identical to that one," Nadir said, glancing back through the hollow in the wall to the mirrored room. "He found a way to change night to day and day to night inside, regulate the temperature, even make the sounds of water and animals inside. Of course, it didn't stay so innocent for long."

Nadya frowned some, moving into the next room of the house – a large dining room similarly torn to pieces. The Persian had told her stories of the wicked little Sultana before, and of the horrible things she had asked Erik to do for her entertainment. It was no surprise an ingenious invention like the mirrored room had not been changed to suit her wickedness. "That doesn't explain what it's doing all the way down here," Nadya pointed out to urge him to continue the story.

"No, but the changes made for the Sultana's amusement do. Everything inside the forest was subject to Erik's whim, and so of course it was subject to the Sultana's. The sound of a babbling brook became maddening when the sun never set and the temperatures soared. The roar of lions in the dead of night, even the sound of their paws snapping twigs just out of sight… little things that would begin to add up in the house of isolation and drive a person mad. And when that was no longer enough, Erik began to hang a noose from the tree, and the forest would suddenly fill with bodies."

Realization flooded the younger woman, and she fell quiet – Erik had meant for the forest to be a trap. It was hard for her to think of the man who had once been so kind to her to be so sinister, but even though she had gone to bed with him just the night before there was no denying he had changed. Erik was no more the same young man he had been twenty years ago than she was the same young woman.

Something drew her attention to an open doorway nearby although nothing but darkness appeared beyond. As Nadya approached, Nadir quickly grabbed her by the arm to divert her. "Why don't you go into the kitchen? He always had lavish tastes in wine, I'm sure there's something in there worth saving."

"This is his bedroom," Nadya concluded, feeling an unexpected wash of relief. The other room had been large and lovely, certain a fitting enough bedroom for a man and his young mistress. But there had only been women's clothing in the armoire, no sign at all a man had ever set foot in the room as more than a gentleman. Nadir's protective reaction doused the jealousy she hadn't realized had taken so tight a hold until that moment. "I was married to him, Nadir, I'm sure there's nothing in there I haven't seen before."

Nadya could not have been more wrong. With pursed lips, Nadir stepped in first to light the oil lamps on the wall, and it was suddenly clear why the room had been so dark. The room looked like a shrine for the dead, with an elaborate coffin carved out of a rich red wood in the very center of the room draped in expensive black silk. All around the casket stood tall candelabras, dripping with the solidified remnants of the tall wax candles they had once held.

"There… there's no bed," she murmured, feeling a sudden chill.

"No," Nadir agreed, though he said nothing else as he moved to the armoire to fetch some of Erik's clothes. He remained quiet even as Nadya ventured forward to brush her fingers along the polished wood. She shuttered visibly, though not from the cold.

"This is where you found him," she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder to her friend although he never returned her gaze. It hadn't been a question; they both knew she was right. Forcing her hand to steady, Nadya pulled herself away from the casket to help Nadir pack.

* * *

><p>Nadya sat down at the table and smiled to herself; the flat had smelled wonderful the moment she had walked in the front door, and Erik had insisted she not lift a finger to help him as he finished cooking. Never in her life had she seen a man cook over anything but a campfire, and although she knew he would not be pleased when he learned where she had been all day she could not help but be light in spirit.<p>

"Where did you learn how to cook, Erik?"

"I used to watch my mother cook," Erik admitted, checking on a carefully guarded pot.

It was the first time Nadya could remember Erik ever mentioning his mother, and all thoughts about how angry he would be if he knew she had been in his home under the Opera. "Was she a very good cook?"

"Terrible," Erik said, with a hint of amusement in his voice. "She never had to lift a finger a day in her life until she married my father. I taught myself from her mistakes. I wasn't much good until the past ten years or so."

"What changed?"

"It was the first time I had money to spare but no kitchen staff to cook for me. I've had plenty of time to practice and learn from my own mistakes," he explained, finally seeming pleased with his creation as he began to plate their meal.

"Where is she now? Your mother, I mean?" Nadya asked curiously, watching as Erik's demeanor seemed to change even though he still faced away from her. Forty years of expressing himself in every way but his face left his body language as telling as it had ever been.

"Your questions aren't any less irritating now than they were when we were children," he remarked, turning to place a plate of food in front of her.

This caused Nadya's arms to cross indignantly. "We were young, Erik, but we certainly weren't children."

Erik remained silent, and although it frustrated Nadya at first she was soon glad for it; she would rather he be patronizing than in another of his foul moods. Rather than press the matter, she took a bite of the braised rabbit. It was without a doubt one of the best meals she had ever eaten, and certainly the best rabbit. The flavors were rich and earthy, not unlike the stews she had grown up making, but there was something more. The broth was rich and velvety, full of flavors he couldn't have possibly created given her limited pantry. She wondered if he had gone to the market without a mask, and again felt a twinge of nerves about admitting to Erik where she had been the better part of the day.

To her surprise, Erik broke the silence. "Rouen."

"I'm sorry?"

"My mother is in Rouen. I made the trip just over a year ago."

Immediately, Nadya's mood lifted. "Rouen isn't very far at all! Will you go to see her often? She must be so glad to have seen you." Quietly she wondered if she would ever meet the woman who had raised the father of her child, but she said nothing; although they had slept together the night before, she knew better to presume he still thought of her as his wife after so many years.

"I never actually spoke with her," Erik admitted, leaning back and taking a thoughtful drink of wine. "I'm not sure why, but I assumed after all this time she would be dead. I went to leave flowers at her grave; when there wasn't one to be found, I stopped by the house she used to live in. She was out in the garden, sweeping snow off the front steps."

Nadya frowned some. "Why didn't you say anything? I'm sure she would have been so happy to see you. I know if Tsura –" She stopped short, immediately at a loss for words at the very mention of her daughter's name. Would a day ever come when she could speak it without her heart bursting?

There was no need for Nadya to finish the sentence; Erik knew quite well what she had meant to say – If their daughter had appeared from the dead after so long, there would not be words to express Nadya's joy. "Somehow, I don't think it would mean quite the same to my mother," Erik said gently, and Nadya nodded, still looking down at her plate.

Knowing neither of them would be able to finish the meal now, Erik took her plate and brought a tray of tea to the table, eager to change the subject and at least distract her from her sorrow if she couldn't ease it. "Your shopping with the Daroga seems to have gone well," he remarked, nodding to the numerous bags and packages she had left by the door.

Nadya opened her mouth for a brief moment before closing it again, her lips pressed tight. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully as she poured herself a cup of tea and tried desperately to think of how to phrase her invasion of his privacy. "We never did make it to the market," she finally said, looking up to him.

Erik's unmasked head tipped slightly; her nerves were clearly making him suspicious. "Oh?"

"…Your health really has taken a turn for the better over the past two days. You're getting a lot stronger, and some of your color is coming back… I thought maybe it would be a good idea to fetch some of your things from your home, so you could go outside comfortably."

"YOU went into my home?" Erik hissed, immediately every bit as intimidating as his face allowed him to be. "What in God's name would posses you to do a thing like that? How did you get down and out again?"

"Nadir took me. He wanted to go on his own, but I insisted on helping. We even found a mask," she added, trying to find something he would find redeeming about what she had done. Naday stood and moved over to one of the packages, unwrapping it carefully and carrying it back to the table where Erik now stood towering over her. "Black leather, with a ribbon. It looks just the same as the one you –"

"It is the very same," Erik agreed, snatching the mask out of her hands. "And there is a reason I kept it so well hidden."

Before Nadya could stop him, Erik was out of the flat and had vanished down the street without a trace. She leaned out over the steps leading down to the bakery below and saw nothing but his footsteps in long strides etched in the freshly fall snow. Cursing his stubbornness, she rushed back inside to fetch a coat and down the steps to the Parisian streets in the opposite direction of the footsteps. If Erik had his heart set on vanishing following him would be useless, but with luck the Daroga of Mazandaran might know where to begin looking.


	17. Chapter 17

"It's not as though he's never done this before, Nadya," Nadir reminded the woman pacing in his well-furnished flat off the Rue de Rivoli. It was a good thing the generous pension provided to him by the Persian government was still arriving monthly, or he might be more worried about the degree to which she was wearing down the rather expansive rug on which she paced.

"Monsieur Khan, he tried to _kill_ himself only days ago and he's been missing for two days. I can't believe you're not as worried as I am!" Nadya exclaimed.

"Frankly, Nadya, he's behaving like a child. So you never asked his permission? It gives him no right to storm off. Really he should have thanked you; it's not safe down there for a grown man let alone a woman."

Finally Nadya sat, although she wasn't any more restless than she had been pacing the sitting room. "You don't understand. He's so private, but it's more than just that. Nadir that place was his sanctuary, the one place in the world he felt safe, and after trying to steer people clear of it for so many years I violated it. I feel awful."

"I violated it well before you did," the Persian pointed out, lacing his fingers as he leaned back in one of the larger chairs. "He's probably just embarrassed you saw how macabre his room is. Or maybe he feels guilty you know he lived in such wealth while you've been living for so many years in a run-down flat above a bakery."

"I'm living like a queen compared to how he and I used to live," Nadya defended, but Nadir merely shrugged.

"If you've been living like a queen, that man has been living like a god. The money he extorts from the Opera House would make Solomon blush."

A knock at the door had Nadya on her feet again in a moment. She was so unused to hired help and so anxious to see if the visitor might be Erik that she beat the Daroga's servant to the door by a good few paces.

The figure in the doorway was not the one Nadya had been hoping to see. In fact, it was about the last person in the world the dark-haired woman expected to be faced with, and her shock must have registered on her face as the young woman in the doorway's expression was filled with guilt.

"I'm so sorry; I knew I should have sent word before I came by. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

Nadya found herself in a rare loss for words; Christine Daae was even more beautiful two feet away than she was lit up on the stage. She looked like the images of angels Nadya had seen etched on stain class cathedrals and painted upon the walls of old churches throughout Europe, the way her loose blond curls framed her small, delicate face. Everything about her made her appear as fragile as a porcelain doll, and Nadya suddenly found herself wondering how this beautiful, brittle creature had possibly survived her encounter with Erik so intact.

"No," Nadya finally said, stepping aside to let the young woman in. "No, not at all. I'm sorry; I was just expecting someone else is all."

"It's quite all right. You must be his wife," Christine remarked with a sweet smile, offering her hand in a gesture that betrayed her common upbringing; a well-bred woman would never have offered her hand to a woman as dark and poorly dressed as Nadya, especially in this part of France.

The remark shocked Nadya and must have startled the Daroga as well, for he suddenly appeared wide-eyed in the doorway. Cautiously Nadya shook the younger woman's hand. "I… he told you about me?"

"Well, no," Christine admitted as she looked to Nadir with a bright smile. "But you're here in his house, and you look just as foreign as he does," she remarked, oblivious to the immediate release of the tension both Nadya and the Persian had held.

Nadir was about to correct the lovely young woman when Nadya shot him a glance and spoke before he could intervene. "You're as observant as you are talented, Mademoiselle Daae."

Christine looked delightfully surprised to be recognized, though Nadya was certain after her triumph at the Gala and the rumors about her relationship with the Vicomte de Chagny she was recognized often enough. "You're too kind, Madame..?"

"Madame Khan," she introduced, with another glance back at the Persian. "You apparently already know my husband?"

"I'm afraid we've never formally met," Christine admitted, looking embarrassed now.

"Nadir Khan," the Persian said, bowing his head politely. His far thicker accent seemed to surprise the doe-eyed blonde, as she glanced between Nadir and his 'wife' before Nadir could speak again. "To what do I such an unexpected pleasure?"

"We… share a common acquaintance, Monsieur Khan. Several, in fact," the ingénue amended, clearly nervous to say too much in front of Nadya.

"Mademoiselle, anything you share with me can be shared with Mada- with my wife," Nadir promised, gesturing for the young woman to move into the sitting room where the servant had set up a tea service. "She knows more about our mutual friends than you might guess."

"I'm so sorry. I'm just… I'm so nervous, Monsieur Khan. I've been meaning to thank you for what you did for Raoul, and for me."

"Mademoiselle Daae, I assure you no thanks is necessary. I did what was right, as I have done my whole life and as I will die doing," Nadir promised, though he sensed this was not the reason she had come to see him at his home.

"Oh but Monsieur Khan, it is. It truly is, even if you were only doing what was right." Christine paused then, still unaware of how closely the dark-haired woman was studying her. When she finally spoke, her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "I feel if more people did what was right, none of this may have happened at all. He never told me much about himself, our mutual friend that is, but I lay awake at night sometimes wondering if he might have been a kinder to me and to Raoul if the world had been kinder to him."

Her voice grew to a normal volume then as she pushed those unhappy thoughts into the back of her mind to save for sleepless nights. "At any rate, I came to thank you and also to ask if you had seen him recently. Raoul and I are going on a trip together…" the very mention of the Vicomte in a brighter light made her smile, Nadya noticed. She was suddenly envious of the girl not because of the way in which she had held Erik's affections, but because of the way her love held hers; when was the last time she had smiled so sweetly?

Christine reached behind her neck and unclasped a long gold chain. Out the front of her dress came a lovely little gold ring with a small but lovely diamond set on the band. Nadya would have thought nothing of it had Nadir not fixated on the object, suddenly very nervous.

"I don't know how long we'll be away," Christine continued. "I promised My An – I promised _Erik_ I would keep this and return one day to bury it with him. It doesn't seem appropriate now that I'm going to be a married woman."

"So the Vicomte is going to make an honest woman of you?" Nadya asked pleasantly.

Again Christine smiled so sweetly Nadya wasn't certain why Erik had ever set her free. "Yes. His family hates me and I'm certain half of France is convinced he killed poor Philippe because of me, so we've decided to elope and stay a while in Sweden until people here can put it out of their minds."

Nadir stood and took the ring from Christine, quickly hiding it in his palm before sliding it into his breast pocket. Nadya watched this action intently, wondering why he would be so eager to put a little ring out of sight. Christine seemed to think this was odd as well. "You've seen him, then? You'll give him the ring for me?"

"Yes, of course," Nadir promised.

"We were hoping it was him at the door just now, actually," Nadya corrected, noting the slightly alarmed glance Christine gave to the greeting room. "We haven't seen him in a few days. You don't know where he might be, do you?"

Christine shook her head, blonde waves flowing like waves of grain in the wind over her shoulders. "I think I see him everywhere, but I know it's just me being foolish as Raoul has hardly let me out of the house since he and your husband saved me."

"He'll turn up," Nadir promised the women. "And when he does, I will happily give him the ring Mademoiselle Daae. But my wife is right, there is a chance he will stop by here and I don't think it's a very good idea for you to be here if he does."

"No, no of course not," Christine agreed, standing and allowing Nadir to show her to the door. "It was a pleasure to meet you both. Monsieur Khan… thank you again. For everything."

As soon as the door was closed, Nadir turned and found Nadya in the doorframe to the sitting room with her arms crossed expectantly. When the Persian moved past her, Nadya grabbed his arm to stop him. "What has gotten you so anxious?" She demanded. "If that woman should have made either of us uncomfortable it's me."

"Mademoiselle Daae is not the reason I am anxious, although I am a little surprised as to how well you handled yourself around her. I was expecting any woman who has cared for Erik the way you did to have torn her to shreds," the Daroga mused.

Nadya pressed on. "You know very well how much I want to hate her, but she's so lovely it's impossible. Even thinking terrible things about her feels immoral and she is clearly enamored with the Vicomte, so I have decided to live and let live. Are you going to show me the ring or aren't you?"

"You're telling me you won't be the least bit upset at seeing your ring?" Nadir demanded, clearly disbelieving.

"Of course not, it's only a –" Nadya paused then, apparently only just registering the Daroga's words. "My ring? What do you mean 'my ring'?"

The look that crossed Nadir's face then spoke volumes even though his lips remained sealed. "MY ring?" Nadya demanded again. "You mean Erik bought that ring for me? But that's impossible!"

"He showed it to me once back in Mazandaran," Nadir finally admitted, pulling the ring out again and handing it to Nadya to inspect. "He said you wore a scarf in your hair to symbolize to your people you were married. Erik wanted to you to have something that would tell his people the same thing. You were taken from him before he had a chance to give it to you."

Just then the front door opened and closed loudly, and Erik's voice filled the flat. "I hope you're quite pleased with yourself, Daroga. If I hadn't made that damned promise to you not to kill needlessly half of Paris would have been throttled in its sleep."

Erik froze when he entered the room and saw Nadya there. She glanced over her shoulder at him, face etched with confusion and hurt rather than the angry relief he had expected. There was something in her hand, which she held closed over her heart.

Neither of them said a word as she approached him and boldly took his hand. Opening his hand, she placed the small object she had been concealing against her heart on his palm and curled his long, gloved fingers back over it. Not another word was said as she brushed past him and out of the flat, not daring to open her mouth for fear of the things she might say in her hurt and frustration.

* * *

><p>Nadya opened the door of her small loft apartment and pursed her lips tightly at the sight of the masked man standing in the doorway. Walking back into the room she neither invited him in nor turned him out into the Parisian winter, giving him the choice to go or stay as he pleased.<p>

Stepping inside and closing the door behind him, Erik watched her move into the kitchen. He had expected her to be angry with him for leaving so suddenly. He had wanted to scare her, to make her worry and to force her to apologize for invading his home, his sanctuary. He had expected to come to her home and be greeted with relief and hostility, for there to be shouting and angry words. At the end of the night once they had exhausted themselves fighting they would exhaust themselves in other ways, glad to be alive, healthy, and finally together.

The one thing Erik had not expected was the way Nadya had retreated into herself. Then again, he had never anticipated her knowing about the ring. "Nadir told me what happened."

Silence. "Thank you. For getting my things."

More silence. Erik moved into the kitchen where Nadya had busied herself making dinner. "For Christ sake, Nadya, say something."

"Will you be staying for supper?"

"If you're inviting me."

Nadya said nothing in response, merely moved to the pantry to double the amount of food she had spread out to prepare. Erik sat at the table and watched the woman work, feeling how hard she was trying not to be bothered by his presence. "You're angry with me."

The sound of the knife striking the cutting board was louder this time before Nadya put down the blade and turned to face him. "Yes, I am. And I have every right to be! How could you, Erik?"

"You knew I had wanted to marry her before now, what has changed? Why are you only just now angry at me about Christine?" Erik demanded, and Nadya slid into the chair across from him deliberately.

"First of all, I was angry at you about her well before you even knew I was here. I reasoned with it and pushed it aside ages ago. I am angry because you _used_ me, Erik. You loved her as much if not more than you ever loved me, but you let me sleep with you only days after she is out of your life? It's my fault too, I suppose. You tried to kill yourself on her account, I should have known better. I did know better… I just didn't want it to be true."

"It's not true," Erik told her, but Nadya shook her head.

"You gave her a ring you were going to give to me. You kept it for _twenty years_ and then gave it to her! You wanted the world to see she was yours, even after you let her go. I'm not a fool, Erik. I know it's been a long, long time since we were married and I had any claim over you. Hell, really we weren't married at all, just two young people in love! You have every right to love someone else, but you _don't_ have the right to string me along!"

"We were as married as I will ever be to anyone," Erik snapped. "We may have been apart more years than we were together, but that much is true."

"Regardless, you made me feel like… like a _whore_, jumping right into bed with you when your heart belongs to someone else. I won't be her replacement," she exclaimed, standing again to return to her cooking so that he would not see her cry. "I love you, Erik. I've loved you as long as I have known you. It would kill me to be so close to you every day, every night knowing you were in love with someone else."

Erik remained where he was, staring down at the worn wood of the table in thought. For over an hour he remained like this while Nadya finished preparing their meal. When the food was ready, Nadya set a plate in front of the masked man and sat across from him. After several minutes of little more than pushing the food around her plate, Nadya finally spoke. "I still have the clothes Monsieur Khan and I brought up for you. You should take them with you before you go."

"…I was thinking I might stay a few days, actually."

Nadya closed her eyes and hung her head. "Erik, please –"

"She was the replacement, not you," Erik interrupted, watching as Nadya's eyes locked onto his. The mixture of surprise and suspicion her brown eyes held was almost hurtful. "I didn't want to die because I couldn't have her. I wanted to die because she was supposed to be it. You told me all those years ago I would know love twice in my life. You were gone, and then so was Christine. I am too young to spend the rest of my life alone. Twenty years alone was maddening enough, I refuse to live the next twenty the same way. As for the ring… I kept it for all that time because it reminded me of you. Even when I was cold and starving on the street before I went below the Opera, I couldn't sell it. The only explanation I have for giving it to Christine is that I was trying to put your memory to rest. I understand your anger, but try and understand what I've been going through all this time. You thought I was dead, you had closure. I had no way at all to fill the hole you left in me until she came."

"Christine was all the good I remembered in you, along with everything I remember wishing you were when we were together. She was innocent and trusting just as you were, but she was never so full of life as you were. She was more complacent, less inquisitive. She was eager to learn because she thought it would please me, not because it pleased her. I used to think how wonderful it was to finally have the woman who was everything I loved about you with none of what used to frustrate me. Then I realized the things that frustrated me were many of the things I loved most about you. Frankly that realization was the only reason I was able to let her go. I began to realize she would never fill the void you left, and there was no point in destroying her life just to try."

For a long moment Nadya sat studying Erik's masked face, searching for any sign of a lie in what little flesh the mask revealed. "… Alright. You can stay, but tonight you're sleeping in the living room."


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note**: I've been sitting on this chapter for a week or so trying to think of how to make it longer. I think I'm just going to get started on Chapter 19 instead, so here you go! P.S. Would anyone be interested in something based off the Labyrinth? I have a few ideas...

* * *

><p>Several hours after they had parted ways for bed, Nadya was woken by the sound of music being played from outside her room. The violin was tragically beautiful, drawing Nadya out of her bed and into the doorway separating her room from the small living area to which she had confined Erik for the night. The masked man was sitting against the wall with one leg outstretched and his eyes closed as he drew the bow across the instrument. If he noticed she was there he certainly gave no notice of it as the music continued for what seemed to be an eternity, yet never once did Nadya grow tired of the sound.<p>

A weight fell heavy on her chest as she watched Erik play. She cupped her elbows in her palms and held herself tight as she remembered the night they had first slept together because of a moment not unlike this one. The way he played made his emotions contagious, be they longing, heartache, or joy. She couldn't help but wonder what had brought on this particular emotion, so sorrowful but at the same time innocent and beautiful.

The wind picked up and rattled the windows of the small flat, pulling Erik's attention back into the real world. He noticed Nadya standing in the doorframe and frowned gently, putting aside the bow. Before he could apologize for having woken her she was crossing the room and settling in his lap. He watched with a mixture of curiosity and awe as she sat facing him and reached her hands towards his face. Instinctively Erik flinched and his hand shot out to stop her, but the moment of panic was quelled some when she frowned deeply at his reaction. Erik pried his fingers off her wrist and allowed the woman to untie the mask from behind his head and peel it away.

He had been bare-faced around her from the time he had awoken in her flat until he had stormed out, but that had not been by choice. Nadya had not been the one who shattered his mask and left him exposed. It was hard enough willing her to accept him for his monstrosity when his nakedness was his own doing, but it was another beast entirely when the power was in her hands.

Nadya knew simply because he had let her remove the mask did not mean he welcomed the gesture, and frowned. Tenderly she scattered kisses across his thin and tattered flesh, willing him out of his anxiety. Finally he began to relax at her touch, and when he craved more than just her kisses Nadya easily forgot she had banished him to the floor in the living room to avoid just such a night.

She fell asleep in his arms on the floor, exhausted from their lovemaking and comforted by the steady beat of his heart against her back as he held her. With the morning came quiet confusion she had experienced early in her time in Paris; between the cold, hard floor and the dying fire in the hearth, she had almost expected to wake up twenty-odd years in the past, traveling with her family or with Erik. Before, the realization of where she was and that those days were long gone had depressed her. This morning as she stretched and turned to face Erik, she was quite content.

"I take it you slept well," Erik remarked. Nadya hummed in agreement and pecked his lips.

"Better than I have in weeks," she said before remembering why she was on the floor with him and not in her own bed. "Something was bothering you last night."

"Nothing I meant to wake you over. Not that I'm complaining," he amended as Nadya kissed him again and peeled herself from his side. She made no move at all to cover herself as she tossed kindle onto the fire and hung a kettle of water to boil. The woman never did have any shame, though he certainly didn't mind.

Nadya pulled a thin blanket off one of the chairs and returned to Erik's side, draping the fabric over them both to keep the cool winter morning at bay a while longer. "I didn't mind. I always loved hearing you play. It was a beautiful song, just… heartrending. What was bothering you?"

"My mind, as usual," Erik admitted. When Nadya looked up at him with those lovely, wise brown eyes he had little choice to elaborate. "I don't know why, but our daughter came to mind. I kept thinking about how her life was taken from her before it had even begun. Then I started to wonder how much of a life she would have had at all, given she looked like me. But any life at all would have been better than the brief one she lived, the way she died… at first it made me angry. Impossibly angry. I wanted nothing more than to run outside and burn all of Paris to the ground. I could do it too."

The bragging in his tone alarmed Nadya, but she could not bring herself to interrupt him. "I've been stealing more than money. I found barrels and barrels of gunpowder the communists had hidden in the catacombs. I only took a barrel to start. It made starting ordinary fires easier, since only a small spark would set it off. When they never noticed it went missing, I began to take more. By the time I had eight barrels I thought to rig it to detonate at my command. Ten barrels at the depth my house resides would have crumbled the Opera and the entire block. I have enough now to destroy the entire city, if I wished. I don't," Erik added, almost as an afterthought upon seeing the surprise on Nadya's face. "I was quite mad back then."

"Back then? Erik, it hasn't been that long at all. A few days –"

"I didn't do it, did I?" The man snapped, regretting his tone when Nadya's jaw tightened. He kissed her in apology, and deciding to let the matter drop continued. "Anyway, the more I thought about it, the more it broke my heart. Scarred or not… she was mine. Flesh and blood I never dreamed existed, but I couldn't protect her any better than I had protected you. She needed me, and I wasn't there. I failed as her father before I ever knew about her. I thought the least I could do was write her a proper requiem."

Nadya had no response. All she could do was bury her head in her lover's arm, hurting at the memory and moved by his gesture. She laid like this until the kettle began to whistle, exerting every effort to pull herself away from his comforting embrace to tend to the tea.

Disappearing into the kitchen for a few moments, Nadya returned to the living room with the tea service to find Erik more or less dressed and in one of the chairs by the fire. Still wearing nothing at all, Nadya placed the tray down near him and wrapped herself in the blanket that had been covering them before to curl up in the chair across from him. There was a comfortable silence between them as the warmth from the fire and the tea seeped through them. Nadya was just about to suggest she start breakfast when Erik spoke.

"I think you should meet my mother."

Surprised, Nadya's brows lifted and then furrowed. "I… what?"

"You were asking about her before we fought the other day. I assume you would be willing?"

"Yes, yes of course," Nadya promised quickly, worried by his tone that he thought she had merely been putting on an act, pretending to be interested. "It's just that the last time you went to see her you didn't even speak to her. I thought that was the end of it."

"I think I could manage, if you were there with me. Besides, won't she be surprised that her son is not only alive, but alive and married?"

Erik's voice was almost condescending, but Nadya knew what he meant; the man who went to visit Rouen a year ago was not the same man sitting in her flat by the fire. The man of a year ago would likely have horrified the woman who had given him life, but the man sitting with Nadya now has exceeded all of his mother's expectations and more. He was alive and if not thriving just yet was well on his way.

But then another thought crossed her mind. "Married? You still think of us as married?"

"Well, we never were otherwise," Erik pointed out casually enough, although she noticed he was studying her intently where she sat.

"I was," Nadya remarked. "I was your widow for far longer than we were ever married. I suppose I'm twice a widow now, since Yoska is dead."

"You weren't ever a widow. Since I wasn't actually dead I didn't widow you, and your marriage to that scum Gypsy was never valid so he didn't widow you either."

Nadya laughed lightly, amused by how easy this reasoning came to him. She supposed it was easy enough logic from where he sat, but having lived so many years of her life thinking the man she was forced to marry had murdered her husband made it harder to grasp. "I suppose you're right. In that case I am an adulterer for sleeping with him," she added with a small frown.

"I think that can be forgiven, given the circumstances. If anything I would call it rape."

The thought alone made Nadya shudder even though between her blanket and the fire she was quite warm. "No. He may have been a monster, but he waited until I came to him."

"How often?" Erik asked suddenly, taking Nadya by surprise.

"I'm sorry?"

"How often did you sleep with him?" His voice was demanding, but not cruel. Something in his posture told Nadya the question had been tormenting him for quite some time, perhaps ever since they were separated two decades prior.

"There were twelve nights after the one I seduced him. He came to me after that first night, but if I was worried if I protested at all he would become suspicious when I told him I was expecting. And everyone was so openly sexual… it was impossible to avoid."

"And did you enjoy him?"

Nadya shook her head and curled her knees into her chest under the blanket. "You always made me feel beautiful, even on the nights we were just playing. You always had such passion… it was hard to go from that to being property. Yoska was so different even than the troupe I grew up in. For them sex was for affection and pleasure, but he viewed it as little more than breeding. Even if I hadn't been absolutely miserable having lost you and terrified for the baby, I wouldn't have enjoyed it."

Erik made a quiet sound of understanding, but Nadya could tell he was still bothered by the thought. They sat together in silence for a time before she moved out of her chair and curled into Erik's lap still wrapped in her blanket. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he held her, resting his chin upon her head. "I would be honored to meet your mother as your wife, Erik," she promised, bringing the conversation back to where it had begun. "Will she be all right? I mean, she would be old by now wouldn't she? It won't be too much for her to see her son and meet his wife? Especially considering what I am."

"You're not any more a Gypsy than I am," Erik said firmly. "I really don't think the color of your skin will be her biggest concern. We'll go tomorrow."

Nadya raise a brow. "Erik, you can't be well enough to travel yet. Rouen is a half day's ride from here, and it's snowing."

When Erik began to protest, Nadya cut him short. "You nearly _died_, Erik. If you get sick in Rouen –"

"It won't be any different than if I get sick here. I can't call a physician regardless," Erik pointed out. When this only deepened the worry etched into Nadya's face, he kissed the top of her head reassuringly. "I am well, Nadya. Frankly I've eaten and slept more the past few days here with you than in the past ten years. We'll stay the night in Rouen so we're not riding back to Paris in the dark."

After a long moment of consideration, Nadya spoke. "If you start to feel the least bit ill, you will tell me and we'll come back," she stated her condition, and Erik nodded his agreement."

"Fair enough."

"All right, tomorrow it is."


	19. Chapter 19

"You're the one who wanted to come, Erik."

"I wanted you to meet her."

"And I will," Nadya promised, glancing from the lovely little house on the outskirts of Rouen up to her husband. The snowfall was light and the chill in the air made a good excuse for their hoods to remain up; this smaller town would not be nearly so accommodating of a Gypsy as Paris, and Erik's mask seemed to draw attention no matter how colorful a city he was in. "But _you _came to meet her too."

"I already know her," Erik defended, unable to tear his eyes away from the house. How different it looked from the outside during the day. The little garden in the front of the house was a neat as ever in spite of the frost that had killed off the more delicate flowers and herbs. It had always been his mother's pride and joy, that little garden. Many days it was as far out of the house as she could go without being harassed by the townsfolk. It was smaller than he remembered it being as a boy. Three or four yards had seemed like such a great distance to cross in the dead of night when he had snuck out to the church to play on the pipe organ. Now after having traveled the greater part of Europe as a free man, the size of the house that had once caged him was sickening.

"Erik, you were eight years old the last time you spoke to her. You don't know her any more than she knows you."

Erik was quiet for a long moment before pursing his lips. "This was a mistake. Let's go."

As he turned to leave, Nadya slipped her arm out from under his and made her way deliberately towards the garden at the front of the house. She was out of reach before Erik could catch her arm, and though he easily could have caught up with her something kept him rooted firmly in place. Why after so many years did this place terrify him so?

Nadya pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders with one hand and knocked with the other. To claim she was not nervous would have been a horrendous lie. She was beyond nervous. The thought of meeting her husband's mother would have been frightening enough for a woman under the best circumstances. Even if Erik were handsome and his mother proud, even if she were young and pale and lovely she would have been anxious. But Erik was not his mother's pride and joy, and she was not even the same race as her husband let alone young and lovely.

She was also not here for herself, and that was the thought giving her the strength to knock. Movement from within the house was followed by the shifting of a curtain at the side of the door. The motion was so quick Nadya barely caught it before the door opened just wide enough to reveal an aging face that bore no resemblance to Erik's at all.

The woman was old, but lovely. Her skin was loose and thin, full of lines and the signs of her nearly sixty years of life. The woman held herself with grace that suggested she had come from wealth in spite of her modest living situation. When she spoke, any doubts Nadya held that she could be related to Erik at all were banished; her voice was as silvery and melodic as church bells before mass. "Whatever it is you're selling, Gypsy, I don't want any. This is a Christian household."

"I'm not selling anything, Madame," Nadya promised quickly, and it was clear the woman was surprised by the quality of her French.

The old woman studied the dark woman on her doorstep carefully, carefully weighing the color of her skin and hair against her modest Parisian dress and fluency before speaking. "Well, out with it then. What can I do for you?"

"…Madame, you have a son do you not? About my age?" Nadya ventured. She had thought about how to broach the subject if Erik could not confront the woman himself the entire carriage ride into Rouen, but had never decided how best to manage.

Again the woman's eyes narrowed and looked over the Gypsy warily. "I suppose he would be about your age, had he lived past childhood. Who are you? Have those horrible men in the village put you up to this?"

"Madame, I swear to you I mean you no ill. My given name was Nadya Biaram. My name now is Nadya Renard."

This caused the woman to straighten to her full height in a way Nadya had seen her husband do when he became defensive. "Renard is my name."

"…I know. It is the name of my husband, Erik."

"Get out of my garden," the woman hissed, defensiveness suddenly turned to anger. "And tell whoever sent you this is a cruel trick to play on an old woman!"

"Madame, it is no trick!" Nadya promised, throwing out her hand to keep the door from closing in her face. "Erik is here, we came from Paris to see you. He was too nervous to come to the door, but here's here! Please, I know he wants to see you –"

A dog began to bark wildly from inside, as the woman fought to close the door against Nadya's presence. Before either of the woman saw him approach, Erik suddenly appeared behind Nadya and with a firm hand pressed the door open. The pale old woman's eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. The dog continued to bark even though the struggle at the door ceased as mother and son regarded one another.

It was Nadya who spoke first out of the trio. "Madame Renard, could you please reassure your dog? If anyone hears…" she trailed off, glancing up to her husband. His masked face was still hidden from all but the front by his hooded cloak, but the need for discretion would never vanish completely.

"Copine, hush," the old woman bid over her hand, distracted. The little spaniel obeyed, but moved to her mistress' feet protectively. No one moved for a long moment until finally the woman stepped aside to allow Erik and his wife to pass into the house, closing the door behind them and glancing out the curtain to be certain no passersby had seen her strange visitors.

The silence that followed seem to drag on for days. Nadya sat beside Erik and took one his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. It was a much more physical gesture of comfort than was appropriate in such civilized company, but Erik did not mind in the least. Nadya's contact was the most comforting thing about the room against the onslaught of memories the house held. The furnishings, the smells… little had changed in the years since Erik had run away. From where he sat he could see the piano on which he had taught himself to play, the table at which he had been scolded for his atrocious penmanship, the kitchen where his mother had refused him his first and only birthday wish, a mere kiss. He wondered if Nadya realized the worn patch on which she was seated was undoubtedly due to his mother's attempts to wash her son's blood from the upholstery left on the night he had run away from home so long ago.

"…How? You were so sick, and then you vanished… how are you alive?" The old woman asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

"Stubbornness and luck. Though good or bad luck, it's sometimes hard to say," Erik remarked, earning him a small glare from Nadya. He knew she disapproved of his view of cheating death as bad luck, but there had certainly been times in his life he would have welcomed death with open arms. "I nearly made it to Amiens before I was caught by a Gypsy troupe and forced to travel with them for a time."

"Amiens! I was convinced you had died within miles of here. There was so much blood…"

"I collapsed for a bit, about twenty miles out. Your physician friend did a fair enough job on my stitches, though. It was more from exhaustion than bloodloss."

Nadya's furrowed brow caused the old woman to glance between them. "He didn't tell you he was stabbed?"

"By one of the village boys, I know," Nadya said quietly. "Knowing doesn't make it any easier to hear."

The old woman hummed some to herself. "So that's where you found this one, then?" She asked, nodding some towards Nadya although her eyes never met either of them. Nadya pursed her lips; it didn't matter how good her French was or how European she dressed, even how well read she was. Madame Renard still viewed her as a stray dog.

"No. The Gypsies I traveled with kept me in a cage. They would never have let me marry one of their own even if I could have put aside my contempt long enough to care for any of them. Besides, I was thirteen when I escaped. That's a little young to marry even by Gypsy standards."

Anger had crept into Erik's voice at the memory, and Nadya squeezed his arm carefully. "We met when your son saved me, about five years after he escaped. He's the best thing ever to happen to me, Madame Renard. He gave me my freedom, taught me to read and write –"

"But he hasn't given you any children. I suppose that is a small blessing," the woman mused quietly, and Nadya's heart sank like a stone. As quickly as she could manage she was on her feet and out the front door. The moment the door closed behind her, the rage that had been boiling inside Erik spilled over.

"You horrible, catty, selfish, sorry excuse for a woman!" Erik raged, his voice filling the house as he stood to tower over the woman who bore him. The old woman cowered in her chair, unable to escape. "Our daughter was murdered in her infancy because her face was like mine!"

It was then that Erik ripped the black leather mask from his face and reached down to force the old woman to face him when she tried to hide her eyes. "Look at you cowering from your own flesh blood! That damned dog has more courage than you do!" He bellowed over the dog's worried barks before growling at the animal and effectively silencing her. "Nadya was _devastated_ when the child was killed. It was nearly twenty years ago and she _still_ hurts to think about it. What did you do when you thought I had died, Mother? I'll bet that handsome physician put a ring on your finger as soon as you had finished celebrating your freedom."

The woman was sobbing now, but managed to shake her head. "I was heartbroken…"

Erik laughed once, coldly. "Heartbroken? That poor woman had to leave the room at the very thought of what happened to her child, and you have the nerve to claim you were heartbroken?"

"I was awful to you, Erik. I was young and spoiled and selfish," the woman cried, covering her face with her hands in shame. These words halted Erik's outrage, striking him almost visibly. Of all the things he thought might happen, of all the conversations he imagined having with his mother after thirty years of absence Erik had never expected to hear her admit to what he had known his entire life.

Her admission was enough to bring Erik back to his place on the sofa across from his mother in shock. Quickly he slipped the mask back over his face and secured it behind his head. It was a motion so practiced and automatic that it was almost beautiful, more like art than something so necessary and involuntary as breathing. The grace of it drew another sob from the old woman, one born of guilt instead of fear. Nearly an hour passed before either of them was able to utter a word.

"Your wife must be lost. You don't seem worried," the woman remarked wiping at her swollen, red eyes with a handkerchief.

"A fish stands a better chance of drowning than a Gypsy does of getting lost," Erik remarked.

"And you're not worried about other men? There are young men here who would view her as quite a prize."

Erik shook his head. "She loves me. God only knows why, but she does. I'd be dead now were it not for her… but it should have been me thrown into the fire."

The old woman shook her head frantically. "The nurse wanted to… I wanted to, too, but thank God for Father Mansart," she admitted, barely audibly. "He saw your soul before any of us. He knew how special you were, even before it all began."

Erik knew exactly what his mother meant. He had been a prodigy. From his crib he was making music with the shards of broken glass his mother had used as a mobile. He had begun walking and speaking in infancy, was fluent in music before he could write, and was composing masterpieces before other children could read. The development of his mind had been limited only by the development of his motor skills and the limited access he had to learning materials; as soon as he had begun to show interest in a subject, the woman before him had attempted to use that interest to control him, to force him into mindless obedience. The frustration and boredom that arose from such deprivation had made him quite a little monster, even he had to admit.

"Father Mansart was wrong to stop you… look at all the pain I've caused. Look at what you gave up, look at what has happened to Nadya," Erik whispered, eyes on the ground in front of him. "You have no idea how much harm I have done, how many lives I have destroyed-"

"Erik Renard. There are many things in my fifty nine years of life that I regret. Keeping you out of the fireplace is not one of them," the woman said firmly. "God help me, that may have been the only right thing I did by you your entire life."

Clearly eager to change the subject, the woman straightened up some in her chair and wiped at her eyes again. "So you had a daughter. Why haven't there been more children?"

"I… Nadya and I were separated for quite some time. We've only been recently reunited."

The woman raised a brow. "How recently?"

"A month or so." Had it really been so short a time?

"Well, tell me about it then," the woman pried, surprising Erik. He had never imagined she would be at all interested in his life.

There was a long period of hesitation before he spoke, somewhat self consciously. "She was taken from me rather abruptly when we were still young. We hadn't been married more than a year. Picking up where we left off has been… strange. Not unpleasant, but certainly not expected. There are times it feels like the past twenty years simply haven't happened, like it was all a nightmare."

"She's not taking advantage of you, is she? You must be successful by now, knowing how you were and seeing how you're dressed now. And it does seem terribly suspicious that you've only just reunited…"

Erik snorted some, ironically. "If anything I'm the one taking advantage of her. The poor woman has to look at me all day and put up with my insufferable nature, has been allowing me to live in her home. What have I to give worthy of any of that?"

"Something beautiful, apparently," the woman remarked, nodding towards the door. "Here she comes now, as faithful as a hound."

A gentle knock came at the front door, and Erik stood to let in his wife. It was clear she had been crying, though her jaw was set and her head held high. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you where I'll be," she said to her husband as though the older woman were not even in the room, handing him a slip of paper with the address of an inn written on it and a key folded inside. She reached up on her toes to peck his lips in farewell before the voice of the older woman stopped her mid-turn.

"Nadya, isn't it?"

Glancing between her husband and the old woman, Nadya nodded. "Yes, Madame."

"Erik, would you be so kind as to allow Nadya and I some privacy? Perhaps find something for your suppers; I'd invite you to eat with me, but I am a wretched cook."

Erik glanced down at Nadya, though she looked about as surprised as he did by the offer. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from just over her left shoulder and his lips did not move. "You don't have to agree. We can go whenever you wish."

Although his ability to speak without moving his lips was always surprising, Nadya hid her start very well and reached up to peck his lips again before shaking her head ever so slightly. "All right," he said finally, satisfied that she could hold her own against his mother if she wished.

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><p>It was well after dark by the time Nadya let herself into the room of the little inn. Erik watched her intently as she shrugged out of her cloak and hung it neatly on the coat rack by the door beside her husbands, but said nothing.<p>

"Well?" He finally urged, seated regally in the only chair in the small room.

Nadya continued undressing, freeing herself from the only corset she owned and slipping out of the beautiful but coarse and stiff dress she had been wearing since early that morning. In spite of his curiosity, Erik could not help but admirably amused at how shameless she was, stripping down to her underthings as though she were the only person in the room.

"…She doesn't care for me much," Nadya finally said, putting the dress and corset neatly aside to sit on the edge of the bed. "She didn't seem to have much trouble telling me as much either."

This caused Erik to growl low in his throat. "What did she say to you?"

"That she finds my people filthy and godless, among other things. That being what I am I had no right to marry you… but she also said that because she had failed you as a mother she had no say in who or what you married. She also said that she was sorry to hear about our daughter, and that the cruelest thing life can hand any woman is for her to outlive a child. Once she had said all that, she asked about you mostly. What you were like back when I first met you, how different are you now, how cruel had life been to you, was it still as cruel now."

Erik glanced out the window by his chair, though his eyes were drawn to nothing in particular. "And what did you tell her?"

"That life had been horrible to you, even before I first met you. That she might have been the first person to abuse you but she was far from the last. But in spite of it all… you're a wonderful man, Erik. You have wounds and scars that have made you hard, but the world is more beautiful with you in it. Life has not been kind to you, but I want more than anything for you to be as happy from now on as you have been unhappy in the past. I told her it would take time, that we are just getting to learn each other again, but that I would do everything I could to keep you from knowing any more unkindness."

In a single stride Erik cupped her face in his long, slender hands and she was his to mold. Twice they made love before Nadya fell asleep, exhausted in his arms. Her hair was like silk against his rough and mottled face, bare now at her own insistence after the mask had bruised her lip during their kisses. When she sighed pleasantly in her dreams and curled deeper into his chest, Erik could never remember feeling so full of life and contentment a day in his life.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I had the immense pleasure of seeing the 25th anniversary performance of Phantom of the Opera live from the Royal Albert Hall today thanks to the magic of Fathom Events. That being said, I have been bitten by the writing bug BIG time and you can expect another chapter either tonight or tomorrow :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** Jan - You actually didn't miss much, just a few musical numbers. For me the best part of that end bit was seeing how fantastic Anthony Warlow is looking. The man had Non-Hodgkins and can still sing like a god. Absolutely incredible.

Everyone - Have I mentioned lately I have the greatest readers on the planet? Because I do. :)

* * *

><p>Nadya tread carefully at her husband's side, chewing the inside of her cheek nervously. No matter how at ease and light hearted he seemed, she simply could not shake her anxiety.<p>

"I'm going to fall!" She protested, clinging to Erik's arm as she suddenly lost balance and laughed lightly at her own mis-step. The heeled boots of Parisian fashion were not nearly as sturdy and practical as the ones she had grown up wandering the forest in. The blindfold over her eyes wasn't helping matters.

"The more you trust me, the less likely you are to fall," Erik scolded gently. For the first time since she had been blindfolded at her flat, Nadya stopped concentrating on her feet and gave her husband a broad smile.

"I trust you implicitly. It's the cobblestone I don't trust," she quoted herself of some twenty years prior, ignoring the fact moments after she had said those words she had watched him be shot by the men who had taken her from him.

From then on she walked confidently by his side, and sure enough she was far more sturdy on her feet. Concentrating less on her steps gave her more time to pry as they walked. "Where are we going?"

"If I could tell you that there would be no need for a blindfold," Erik pointed out, amused.

Nadya's brow knit over her tightly closed and bound brown eyes as she thought for questions he might be more willing to answer. "If I guess where we are, would you tell me if I'm right or wrong?"

"That seems fair enough," Erik conceded, confident she could not see through the pitch-black cloth over her face.

"Well, we're outside," she reasoned. "And we haven't gone into a coach at all, so we must still be in Paris."

"Correct."

"And for a while we were walking in snow, so we must have gone through the park since they've swept all the roads just this morning."

"Also correct," Erik admitted, and Nadya could tell he was smiling by the tone in his voice. "You're very good at this. Watch your step," he advised guiding her off the main road.

"Ah, we're on the sidewalk now which means we must be getting close. And we haven't been walking terribly long…" but this confused her – she was certain they had been walking towards the heart of Paris. Why would Erik take them so close to so many people?

The moment they moved out of the crisp winter air indoors, Nadya completely lost any bearing she had found during their walk. It seemed as though they spent more time wandering inside whatever building they had entered than the time it had taken to get there. She was just about to ask again if he would give her any hint as to where they were going when Erik suddenly stopped.

"Are you ready for your surprise?" Erik asked, and Nadya squeezed his arm excitedly.

"So long as it doesn't involve any horses this time," she teased again, and Erik reached behind her head to untie the blindfold and tuck it into his coat pocket.

Nadya drew her hand to her mouth to cover a gasp of surprise. They were standing upon the stage of what she was certain was L'Populaire, fully lit and dressed. The set was stunning, looking every bit like a palace in Turkey with its gold trimmings and vivid colors. In the very center of the stage a blanket was carefully laid out and topped with a bottle of wine, a basket, a candelabrum, as well as a pile of neatly wrapped gifts.

"Oh Erik, it's beautiful. But won't people see us?"

"It's Christmas Day, My Love. The company has been given the entire day off, and I made certain the security will not bother us," Erik explained, earning him a hard look from Nadya.

"I hope no harm has come to those poor men?"

Erik's good natured response immediately made her feel guilty for ever asking. "I simply forged a note from the managers excusing them for the day. Even the ballerinas who live on the premise won't be in today, since the dormitories are under construction. We're completely alone," he promised.

It was strange, being in Erik's world. Nadya had been to the Opera before with Nadir both as a guest and to liberate Erik's things from his home far below the opera, but this was somehow different. Here on the stage, looking up at the catwalks, the drops, the ropes… life here was whatever they wanted it to be. She could certainly see the appeal. Today they were in a Turkish harem which served as the setting for next week's opening of _Die Entführung aus dem Serail_. In a month they might be in an Italian vineyard, or a palace, or a church. Nothing here was permanent, but everything was beautiful. Erik's home might have been in the cellars below, but up here had been his country, his kingdom. It was absolutely fascinating.

"How much of this did you have a part in?" Nadya asked, resting her head in Erik's lap as they lounged. Erik took a long drink of wine and looked around.

"None of it. I suggested _Die Entführung aus dem Serail_ quite some time ago, but I've been living with you for several weeks now," he reminded her, leaning back on one of his hands go glance around at the set.

"I meant the building. I remember a lot of the outside from your sketches, but what did you have a hand in while it was being built?" She asked curiously, looking up at her husband as his brow furrowed under the mask.

"Quite a bit of it, actually. Most of the design of the building was mine, inside and out. I was a laborer on the Grand Foyer and here in the theatre itself, and I oversaw most of the construction of the cellars."

Nadya shook her head, almost in disbelief. "It's really beautiful, Erik. All of it. It's not fair that it bears someone else's name."

"Why do you think I was demanding such a high salary of the managers?" Erik asked, bitterly. "Before I built the house by the lake, the salary they paid me wasn't even enough to stay off the streets most nights."

The thought of Erik sleeping on the Parisian streets caused Nadya to crinkle her nose and pull her arm across her chest comfortingly. "What do you suppose the managers have been doing with your salary these days?"

"If Madame Giry has half her wits, she hasn't told them I've not been collecting and has been keeping it. I made a lot of promises about that rotten ballet rat of hers becoming royalty, hopefully she's figured this is the start of that becoming a reality," Erik mused, and to his surprise Nadya laughed lightly. "What?"

"You really don't hear the way you speak, do you? You have such a beautiful voice, but sometimes you say the most bizarre, off things," she laughed.

"Why do you love me?" Erik asked so suddenly Nadya wasn't quite certain she had heard him correctly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I asked. Why do you love me?"

Nadya pursed her lips and sat up to face him. "If you're upset because I laughed-"

"It isn't that," Erik promised, but Nadya remained unconvinced. "I've been wondering since we went to Rouen, that just reminded me that I've been meaning to ask."

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Nadya rested her arms atop them and furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose it's how passionate you are. It radiates in everything you do. It's in the way you speak, the music you write, the way you look at me and touch me. It's all through this building, even," she added, looking around. "There is not one detail that is overlooked in anything that you do, and I love that. You're also the first person who ever treated me like a _person_, not just a girl. Even when you were more openly against my being a Gypsy, you gave me a chance to be myself around you. You made fun of me for being curious, but turned right around and taught me to read and write, how to do arithmetic. Nobody else would have given me those opportunities. And you're like that with everyone, Erik. You have your prejudices, but you're not afraid to let them go if someone is willing to prove them wrong. That's a difficult thing for most people to do, myself included."

She sighed some then, pensively. "And then there are the things I'm not sure I can put into words properly. I feel safe when you're near me. Just thinking about you makes me warmer, more content. The way you look at me sometimes… it's like I'm the most beautiful thing in your world, which I know is so filled with beautiful things."

"You are the most beautiful thing in my world," Erik promised quietly, leaning forward to catch her lips against his.

Nadya smiled against his lips and stroked his arm. "You liked my answer then, hm?" She teased, but to her surprise Erik nodded.

"Yes. My mother suggested it might have been for my wealth."

This caused Nadya to sit back and study him for a long moment. "And you believed her."

"Of course not!"

"Yes you did, Erik, or it wouldn't have bothered you enough to ask!" She accused with a deep frown. "I loved you even on the days we had half a loaf of bread between the two of us, how can you possibly think I care about your money?"

"I don't, Nadya," Erik said firmly. "What she said bothered me because I didn't know what to tell her to convince her otherwise. It's certainly not my looks you fell in love with, after all."

Nadya bit the inside of her cheeks until they bled, fighting to keep from saying something she knew she would regret. "Fine. Let's open gifts then, shall we?"

"You're still mad at me," Erik accused as Nadya filled her glass wine.

"I don't want to fight, Erik."

"Well maybe I do."

"Of course you do; you're always waiting for the other shoe to drop, fighting just forces it to."

This caused Erik's bright eyes to narrow dangerously behind the black of his mask. Nadya immediately regretted speaking at all. "I'm sorry, Erik. I just… there are times I wish you would just accept that I want to be with you without questioning my motives. It feels like you're waiting for me to tell you I've changed my mind and run off. You used to do this before, but it's been even worse now. I understand why," she added quickly. "It's just frustrating sometimes that you don't trust me the way I trust you."

There was a long moment of silence between them before Erik finally spoke. "Everything I love finds a way to hurt me. Even you did, though you didn't mean to. It's a hard mindset to break," he confided quietly.

With a small frown, Nadya moved into his lap and kissed her husband sweetly. "Erik, I didn't leave you because I didn't want to be with you. I did, very much. That isn't going to change," she promised, waiting until Erik nodded his understanding before kissing him again with a small smile. "Did you bring all the presents? Even the ones I got you?"

"I did, even though I'm going to force you to return the lot of them," Erik threatened, glad for a change of subject. "I told you not to get me anything."

"I told you the same thing, but look at them all," she teased, staying in his lap and reaching over to pluck one off the top of the small pile and handing it to him. "Open."

Nadya watched as Erik obeyed, quite amused. She was hardly used to giving or receiving gifts but Erik had been given so few in his life it was like watching a child savor his first sweet, both eager and yet so unwilling for it to end. He tore the paper carefully and opened the thin black box inside with care. When his eyes widened, Nadya spoke quickly.

"Don't read too far into it, Erik," she demanded. "You know how I feel about your face. I got this for you, for your comfort not for mine. I saw how poorly the one you're wearing fits, the way it rubs you raw in some places. Besides, you seemed to prefer the porcelain one anyway, before it broke."

The mask beautiful, nearly identical to the one he had broken in Christine's wake. It was brushed with a bit of color in the cheeks in the artists' attempt to give it life, and molded with a fine Italian nose and strong, handsome brows. When he lifted it out of the box, he was surprised by the odd feel of the back of it and turned it to see it had been molded to nearly the exact outline of his face. When he glanced to his wife in surprise, she flushed some.

"Nadir kept the mask you had worn in Persia, the one he used to help you escape," she explained, causing Erik to frown. Erik had sacrificed the mask for the Daroga to place on a criminal, to stage his death. Removing the mask from the body at any time would have been incredibly dangerous had the Shah or any of his men seen that the body's face was not scarred. "I gave it to the man to make a mold of, since it was such soft leather and must have fit your face well."

"…Than you, Nadya. It really is a work of art."

"I don't want you wearing it unless you truly feel the need to," Nadya demanded. "You know I love you in spite of your face, and regardless of how well the mask is made being without one must be more comfortable –" She was silenced by a lingering kiss from her husband, and finally she smiled. In a quick, easy motion Erik slipped off his hardened leather mask and replaced it with the smooth white porcelain. Nadya chuckled at his fleeting moment of what could have been vanity as his posture invited her to admire him, and she leaned in and kissed him again. "Dashing."

"You're a rotten liar, but thank you," he said, causing her to laugh lightly as he leaned over to find the smallest of the packages addressed to her.

Nadya accepted the gift with a bright smile and tore into it eagerly. Opening the small black box within, her eyes widened drastically. There in her hands was a ring unlike any Nadya had seen. It was simple enough with a single diamond set atop the band, but the gold of the band curled and flowed over the band like ivy. "Erik, it's beautiful… this isn't the ring you gave to Christine."

"You sound surprised," Erik remarked, taking the ring from the box to place it upon her wedding finger.

"I thought… I don't know what I thought. I thought if you ever decided to give me a ring it would be the same one. You did buy it for me," she reasoned.

Erik shook his head. "I sold it and found this one. It didn't seem right giving you a ring I had already given to her, even if I originally bought it for you. It took me a while to find one that was fitting."

"It's perfect," Nadya promised, turning to kiss him deeply. I'll have to find a scarf for my hair," she mused, and to her surprise Erik handed her another box.

"I thought of that too," he remarked, and Nadya laughed before kissing him again, urging him down onto the blanket.


	21. Chapter 21

Returning to the Opera felt like coming home, Christine thought as she wandered through the halls. She had lived and worked there for nearly half her life, and while she didn't remember missing it while she was away coming back filled her with joy.

Raoul was a remarkable husband, and when the little life inside her came into the world he would make a splendid father. She had no regrets about her decision to leave the Opera to become the Countess de Chagny… but she did miss it. There was something magical about the Opera, something not even the fairytale her life had become could touch. Only at the Opera could an unremarkable little girl such as she stop all of Paris in its tracks. Really, were it not for the Opera the odds of her adoring husband ever having found her again after their youth were slim to none. It was _because _of the Opera Garnier that her life had become so fairytale perfect, there was no denying that.

The New Years Masquerade Ball was simply enchanting. It was the first time she and Raoul had been seen by society since their elopement two months prior, and they had truly caused quite a sensation. Christine was certain the surprise of the managers and Opera company was merely show for she and Raoul had been quite enamored ever since he had discovered her at the Gala a year prior, but it was entertaining nevertheless. Ladies gawked over the quality of her wedding ring, gentlemen flirted and praised Raoul for his luck, everything a newlywed couple could expect from their societal debut.

In spite of the pleasant atmosphere, Christine simply had to escape from the crowd. Raoul's ease in public was perhaps the one thing they would never share; having grown up with little more than her father for company, she often felt caged in around so many people. She tried her best, knowing the life of a Countess would require her to be at her husband's side during events like this until they were old and grey, but for now she needed to catch her breath and compose herself.

The stage seemed to call her name the moment she walked by, a siren in a sea of memories. After a quick glance over her shoulder to be certain no one would notice, Christine slipped through one of the doors to the enormous backstage area that had once been both heaven and hell. She smiled as she ducked gracefully under the ropes and curtains, remembering well the anxiety before every performance and the exhilarating high once the curtain fell. The warmth of the lights on her face, the roar of an enthralled crowd… the eagerness to hear her Angel's voice and earn his praise.

Where was her Angel now? Both the Persian and his wife were in attendance at the party, but with Raoul at her side when she had greeted them she had been too afraid to ask if her ring had ever been returned. They seemed light hearted enough, surely her Angel – sure _Erik_ was all right. It still bothered her at night, how much she cared for the man who had once held her prisoner, the man who had very nearly killed her Raoul. By all rights she should hate him… but she didn't. She couldn't, no matter how hard she tried to. Life had been unspeakably cruel to him, and he had only been looking for affection, for someone to ease the loneliness.

Confident she was alone, Christine ventured to center stage from the wings and looked out over the house. Had there always been so many seats? The lights during a performance always made it difficult to see, but now it was daunting. Truthfully she could hardly remember the night of the Gala, her true debut. Her soul had been so engrossed in the music her mind was far removed from the very idea of an audience. She had been singing for her Angel that night, and not for the hundreds of people who must have been watching.

On a whim, the young bride opened her mouth and began to sing. She had always been delicate for a soprano, far less powerful than the average leading lady on the Operatic stage. Oh, there was power when she needed there to be, but her natural timbre was far more fragile and natural than the robust women with voices are large as their egos, more like a songbird than any instrument. Without Erik's guidance, her voice never would have attracted any attention at all she knew as she ran through scales she had not sung in months. The voice that came from her mouth was hers, but the soul, the refinement… that was the voice of her Angel.

When the scales reached the height of her range, she smiled to herself and stroked her throat lightly. The notes did not come as easily, but they came. Playing with a few quick little arpeggios and runs had her grinning before a voice far more beautiful than her own spoke her name.

"Christine…"

This was not the siren's call of the stage; this Voice was real, and hauntingly familiar. Every hair on the back of the young woman's neck stood on end, though out of pleasure or terror even she couldn't be certain.

"Angel? Erik, is that you?"

"You should not be here," the voice informed her quietly, hardly more than a whisper.

"I know," she admitted. "But I didn't think anyone would mind. They're all too busy with the ball." But she knew this was not what he meant.

"As you should be. It is dangerous for you here, Christine. Oh, Christine," the Voice lamented, very nearly a sob.

"You never hurt me, Erik. I know you never would," she added, though her hand went to her belly; the child inside her was still too small to show under her flesh, but the instinct to protect it was already very real. "Please… may I see you? For three years you were my teacher, we can pretend-" she trailed off, but the Voice finished for her.

"Pretend the darker things never happened? Pretend your Angel was never so cruel to you, so heartless? Would your husband dare let you take such a risk? I am surprised he let you out of his site, with his child in your womb."

The young woman's eyes widened in surprise. "How do you..? I haven't even told Raoul yet. I was going to tell him tonight."

"Your hand is resting over your womb, Child, and your face is fuller. Run off and tell your husband," the Voice begged, leaving unspoken threat in the air. Run off and tell him, while you still can.

"Please… Erik I owe you an apology," she said, surprising herself even as she said it. Hanging her head some, she picked at the lace trim of her Cinderella's gown self consciously. After an agonizingly long moment, a slight movement caught her attention from the shadows of the wings and an all-too familiar silhouette appeared.

"You owe me no apology. I was the beast, and you the beauty. Now go. For God's sake leave this place and never return," the Voice pleaded. It came from the same place in the air just in front of her, yet she knew the silhouette must be the source.

"No, really I do. I lie awake at night, thinking about what I did. I promised you my hand, and then left… Erik I've never broken a promise in my life before or after that night, and it haunts me. I am so, so sorry. Please say you'll forgive me."

The shadow's posture clutched at its heart as though in pain, and Christine's face dropped in worry. "Angel, are you all right?"

The voice sobbed her name and the silhouette melted into the shadows. "Christine… I will always love you, My Angel. You were forgiven from the very start. You _must_ go. You have no idea how many people will be hurt if you stay another moment."

"But, Erik –"

The sound of a door closing loudly stopped the young woman mid-sentence, and the voice wailed in combination of rage and agony that filled the entire theatre. "Look! Do you see what you've done?"

"I don't –"

"Erik didn't come here for you, he came here for her! He came here for her and now she's gone," the Voice lamented, sending chills up the young woman's spine.

"I don't _understand_, Erik! Tell me what I did and I will fix it."

"You can't fix it, stupid girl! Ignorant child!"

"Erik, you leave that woman alone!" Bellowed a new, thickly accented voice as the doors swung open and the Persian entered with none other than her husband, the Prince Charming to Christine's Cinderella.

"Raoul!" She yelped as the man darted up onto the stage to take her into his arms, protectively.

"Where did she go, Daroga? Where is poor, sweet Nadya?"

"As far away from you as possible, I suspect," the Persian spat to the faceless voice. "You truly don't deserve her, or anybody else for that matter."

* * *

><p>Although she never would have admitted it, Nadya had looked forward to the Masquerade Ball for some time after agreeing to attend with Nadir. Life was moving steadily forward, and the more time she spent with Erik the less she was spending with a man who had become so much like a brother to her since his arrival in Paris. It would be good to enjoy his company, share a few glasses of champagne and hear more of the stories from his past that she loved so much, maybe even talk him into a dance or two.<p>

Erik didn't seem to mind when Nadya explained her plans to him. In fact, he had even given her his old black leather mask to wear along with her costume, which really wasn't much of a costume at all. She had decided to attend the ball dressed as what much of Paris imagined when they thought of Gypsies. A creamy silk blouse hugged her shoulders and dipped low over her breasts while layers and layers of shimmering, colorful fabric draped down to her feet. She let her hair down in its full volume and tamed it only with the scarf Erik had given her for Christmas and adorned her body with bangles and baubles she had acquired over the years. When Nadir showed up at her doorstep in Persian robes decorated with medals and tassels from his days as the Daroga of Mazandaran, she had to laugh; what were the odds they had both decided to dress as Paris expected them to appear?

The night was grand. The women were beautiful, the men were handsome, the champagne and music flowed freely. Twice Nadir was asked to dance by lovely young ballerinas who were enchanted by the mysterious older man in uniform, and Nadya found herself gravitating towards the small group of children in costumes and masks were glancing at her with whispers and giggles. For nearly an hour she delighted them with fairytales she had grown up with as a girl, performing simple little magic tricks and telling them grandiose visions of their futures.

"Me next, me next!" One little girl chimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet in delight and holding out her palm expectantly.

Nadya grinned and took the girl's hand, studying it carefully before humming. "Mmm, well Mademoiselle, your palm is very hard to read, but there is one thing I see quite clearly."

The girl frowned at the news. "What's that?"

Her face as straight as can be, Nadya leaned in close. "You are going to be courted by royalty."

"You mean I'm going to be a princess!" The girl exclaimed, nearly squealing.

"It's certainly possible," Nadya said, before something caught her attention. A tall figure cloaked in all black but for a bone-white mask of porcelain… "Speaking of royalty, I think I spotted my Prince."

"The man in the funny hat is a prince?" One of the boys asked, disbelieving.

Nadya had to laugh. "Well, actually yes. There are many, many princes in Persia. Perhaps if you ask him very kindly, he'll tell you more about it," she suggested, and the children hurried off to pry Nadir away from his far more skilled dance partner.

She smiled to herself and slipped through the crowd in the direction of the man in the porcelain mask, certain it was her husband come to surprise her. Although she had only caught a glimpse of the figure, she knew exactly where Erik would be heading were it really him.

The theatre was a favorite place of hers, after their Christmas picnic upon the stage. It would certainly be deserted tonight, with the entire company having been invited to the Ball and only an hour remaining until the new year. Even the more boisterous couples who had slipped off for more private parties of their own would be back to enjoy the height of the festivities by then.

But the theatre was not empty. Far from it; Nadya had heard her voice even before she had pushed open the door. Christine Daae's talent certainly had not diminished in her brief albeit significant absence from the stage. Nadya closed the door quietly behind her and leaned against it, listening in awe as the young woman sang with angelic grace without any musical accompaniment. She was about to applaud when a second, all too familiar voice chimed like a bell in the distance, quiet but so melodic.

Nadya stood paralyzed, unable to utter a word or turn away as Erik begged the girl to leave for her own sake. The hurt in his voice was painful to listen to, but not for the usual reason; while normally Nadya found Erik's voice and emotions contagious, his pain stabbed through her heart rather than pulled at it. She was not empathetic… she was jealous.

Surely she was overreacting? Ignorant as ever, Christine was only trying to apologize for having hurt him. Perhaps the memory of the pain she had caused was enough to hurt Erik… but no. This pain was fresh and organic, and Erik himself solidified it.

"_I will always love you."_

Five words that on their own would have meant nothing. Five words that spoken to anyone else, in any other order would have been harmless… but those five words stole all the breath from Nadya's lungs and tore her heart from her chest. Before she knew what she was doing she left the theatre, oblivious to the weight of the doors as they swung closed behind her. She barely remembered leaving the Ball, only a dizzying sense of grief. Something about her reaction, perhaps even something she said must have alerted Nadir to the situation, for he vanished in the direction of the theatre even as Nadya escaped out the grand entrance.

She sat in one of the large chairs by the fireplace, staring down at the chessboard Erik had set there just before Christmas but seeing nothing. The only movement she made was to take a long drink of wine directly from the bottle as her world fell to pieces around her.

The quiet click of Erik's king as the piece fell on its side was enough to break Nadya from her silence, but not from her nearly catatonic state. "It wasn't your turn," she muttered. In any other circumstance she would have been impossibly annoyed that he had let her win their three-day long match, but all she could do was stare.

"A good player knows when to surrender," Erik explained carefully. When Nadya did not respond, he frowned deeply. "Say something. Anything. I beg you."

"You've been doing a lot of begging tonight," Nadya remarked, hardly more than a whisper.

Erik's jaw tightened. "Erik was begging her to _leave!_ You know that, you heard!"

"Do you hear yourself?" Nadya snapped suddenly, finally tearing her eyes away from the board. "You sound absolutely mad!"

"He is mad! He is mad because of you, because he knows you heard and the thought of losing you again is worse than death –"

"I don't believe you, Erik! How can you expect me to believe anything you say? You told you would always love her. You certainly weren't saying it for her sake… unless…" Nadya's face changed from anger to sheer heartbreak. "I am going to ask you this only once, and God help you if I even think for a moment you are lying to me… is there even a _chance_ the child she's carrying is yours?"

The heartbroken moan that escaped the man was answer enough to convince Nadya of Erik's honesty. "How could you think Erik would do such a thing? Even if Christine had ever wanted him, he could never betray you like that –"

"_You told her you loved her_, Erik!" Nadya reminded him, tears streaming down her face. "That you always would! We've been through this, Erik. If you love her, go. Pine for her, pity yourself for your ugliness, curse the de Chagny name. I won't stop you, but I won't be her replacement. I love you too much to play second fiddle. I want all of you or I want none of you," she spat, wiping at her eyes before trying to stand and losing her footing. She cursed in her native tongue as Erik raced forward to catch her.

"How much have you had to drink?" He asked, voice filled with concern as he eyed the bottle in her hand and another, already empty one on the ground.

"Not nearly enough," she said stubbornly, yanking the bottle of wine back towards herself when he attempted to pry it from her hands.

"Let Erik –"

"Stop doing that! Stop speaking like you're not in your own head!" Nadya snapped, pushing him away fiercely. "YOU are Erik. YOU are the one who hurt me, and no matter how many times you call yourself by name that isn't going to change. I _trusted_ you! We agreed we were still married, I've been letting you live under my roof, I've been giving myself to you body and soul and you _still love her!_"

"Erik is… _I_ am," he corrected, though it sounded as though it pained him immensely to do so, "a cruel, stupid, selfish man. I have no excuse. I have nothing but sorrow and regret; my heart breaks for the pain I have caused you. Please believe me when I say the guilt for what I said would have consumed me even if you hadn't heard. I don't know why I said it."

"You said it because it's true," Nadya whispered, clutching at her heart even as she swayed on her feet. "No matter what your feelings are for me, you will always love Christine."

"Nadya, give me the bottle," Erik commanded, attempting to pry it from her hands again with little success. "You're going to poison yourself if you drink too much!"

"You're being dramatic," she accused, but handed him the bottle anyway. Now that she was on her feet, her head was spinning. How much _had_ she had? And when had she last eaten?

"Change into something dry before you catch cold," the masked man urged now, and for the first time Nadya realized her clothes were sopping wet, her hair sticking to her face and breasts. Suddenly her ears were ringing and her head grew heavy. Erik managed to catch her just as her knees fell out from under her and her world grew black.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Drinking is NOT a solution to your problems, kids.


	22. Chapter 22

"She's done this before. She'll be all right."

The voice was thickly accented and clearly hushed, but still it made Nadya's head scream in pain.

"What do you mean, 'she's done this before'?" Demanded a far more beautiful voice, but still her temples throbbed.

"Two years ago I visited her on the anniversary of her daughter's death. She was in a similar state. Believe it or not, Erik, some people don't bring down chandeliers and set fire to buildings when they're hurting."

When Nadya attempted to open her eyes the dim light of the room caused a stabbing sensation all the way around her skull. When she moaned in pain, the sound of her own voice made her queasy.

Within moments someone was pressing a cool glass in her hands and helping her to sit up. She sipped cautiously, not quite trusting her stomach as the world spun around her dizzyingly. "There now," praised the more accented voice from nearby, stroking her hair. "Some water and a little bread and you'll be good as new."

She had imploded again, she knew. Ever since she was a girl she had been the sort to keep her troubles to herself, to let her hurt build inside her until it overwhelmed her and she did something she often regretted later on. Often it involved drinking far too much to dull the pain, which certainly felt like the case this time.

But she had been so happy lately. With Erik back in her life the beauty had returned in full. His arms were there to warm her on cold winter nights, his mind was there to challenge hers, to teach her things she never would have thought to learn herself. It was as though after twenty years life was finally returning to the way things were supposed to be.

It was the dead of winter. It would be several months before the memory of her daughter's death would begin to weigh on her like a ball and shackles like it did every year, and this year she would have her husband to mourn with her. So why –

And then she remembered. Erik's pleas that Christine run for her own safety, knowing he could not trust himself around her. His confession of never ending love. This… this was the reason she had drawn so far into herself, the reason she had pushed the world away and sought so desperately to dull the pain.

"You shouldn't be here," she murmured to Nadir accepting a piece of bread he traded for the glass of water in her hands, embarrassed and ashamed that anyone could see her in such a state.

"Neither should you," he scolded gently, kissing the top of her head and patting her back before standing. "Eat slowly, or it will come right back out."

Nibbling at the bread with her eyes still squinted against the light, Nadya pulled her knees to her chest and glanced at the door. "He's still here, isn't he?"

"Yes. I tried to force him to leave as soon as I got here, but he refused," the older man explained, laying out a fresh set of clothes on the bed for her.

"Did he tell you..?" She trailed off, and the Daroga shook his head.

"No, but Christine did."

A long moment of silence passed between them as Nadya picked at the bread in her hands. "I should hate her, but I can't. She's too sweet, too perfect. I don't see how every man in Paris isn't madly in love with her."

"True love doesn't come from perfection, Nadya. It comes from accepting imperfection."

"Tell me about your wife again, Monsieur Khan?" Nadya asked, hugging her legs and resting her head upon her knees as she watched him sit at the foot of her bed.

"Sareh was common by birth, but the noblest person I have ever met in all my years. I met her when we were both quite young and loved her almost immediately. Her mother and father sold fruit out of a stand in the bazaar, and one day I saw her give a mango to an old beggar. I watched as she sat with him for hours, keeping him company through the hottest, most miserable part of the day. When he left to find shelter for the night, she gave him bread and cheese to take with him. Our religion urges us to give alms to the poor, but Sareh did that and more out of the goodness of her heart and not out of any desire to see Paradise. I was thirteen years old the day I saw her give an old beggar food, fifteen when we married, and twenty five when she died giving birth to my son."

Nadya stared into the distance as he spoke; she loved the way he spoke about Sareh. He could go on for hours her without ever mentioning her appearance. It was only when he was directly asked that he spoke praise of her beauty that he reflected on the smoothness of her skin or the silken waves of her hair. Nadya was never sure if this was because he had truly cared less for her beauty than any of her other qualities, or because it pained him too much to remember.

"You truly loved her," Nadya pointed out. "And you always speak of her as though she were perfect within and without."

"She was perfect for me," Nadir explained simply. "That was more than enough."

Nadya hummed to herself and looked away, and Nadir squeezed her arm gently. "You are perfect for Erik, Nadya. The man does not deserve you, and he knows it. I did not deserve my wife either, and I certainly knew it. But rather than do as I did and spend every minute of his waking day finding ways to deserve you, Erik manages to find ways to push you away. He is convinced his lot in life is to die unhappy and alone. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"He loves her," she said simply. "He always will. I knew it… I just didn't want it to be true. I thought if I wished hard enough, maybe one day it wouldn't be. But it won't ever change. He will always love her. I can't do it, Nadir. I can't be with him knowing he's searching for her face in mine."

"And you shouldn't have to," Nadir said quietly. "Nadya, you are so very dear to me. Please understand the position I am in… Erik will only ever be happy with you in his life, and after last night I fear you will only ever be happy without him."

The very thought made her blood run cold and immediately brought back the nausea she had been fending off – life without Erik. Had she really gone two decades living such a way? It had been hard enough thinking he was dead, and so very hard to stay away from him when she discovered he was alive and so close… but to have him again after all this time and leave? To lose the beauty he had brought back to her life would be unbearable.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and suddenly Erik was in the doorway looking rather like a guilty child. His eyes were fixated on the floor beneath him even when he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Nadya said plainly, watching as he cringed. Was it the ugly sound of her voice or her illness that bothered him so? "What do you want, Erik?"

"I was hoping to speak to you. In private," he added.

Nadir answered before Nadya could manage. "I won't have it. You shouldn't have stayed even this long, Erik. Go back to the cellars and leave the poor girl be for the day until she's recovered."

"It's fine, Nadir. I'm fine," she promised quietly. "Putting it off isn't going to help anyone."

Pursing his lips, Nadir squeezed her arm again and stood. "Very well. I'll be back in the afternoon to check on you," he promised, dismissing himself from the flat.

Erik remained where he stood, still unable to look at his wife. She took another small bite of bread, before uncurling her knees from her chest and placing her hands in her lap. "Well. What did you want to talk to me about?"

"… The Daroga said you've done this before. Drank until you've gotten sick," he remarked, finally glancing up. His golden eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn't slept at all in days, or had even been crying.

"That's… never the goal. But I suppose I have, yes."

"You say it as if it's happened often."

"Not often. But more than once, not that it's anyone's business but my own," she said, the words sounding more harsh than she meant in her hoarse, dry voice.

Erik flinched as though she had struck him. "It hurts to see you like this, Nadya. I want to be the one you go to when you're in pain, not the one causing it."

"You're right," Nadya answered simply. "You should be. What do you want, Erik?"

"I went to the Opera last night to see you. I never expected to see her."

"Who did you think invited Nadir and I?" Nadya asked patiently, and Erik shook his head.

"I didn't even stop to think about it. You looked extraordinarily beautiful last night when you left. I don't know why, but it reminded me of that time you had asked me to stay with your family. Someone had started playing music, and you asked me to dance. Do you remember?"

Nadya hung her head some, unable to look at him. "…Yes. I think I threatened to hit you if your hand went any lower than my waist," she mused, "but I was already completely smitten with you."

Erik moved towards her and to her complete surprise fell to his knees in front of where she sat, taking her hands in his so that she had no choice but to look at him. "Whatever hold Christine has over me does not touch the feelings I have for you, the history we have together. It doesn't hold a candle to that dance, to the trust you placed in my when you chose to leave behind everything you knew to travel with me. Nadya, I think we should have a baby."

Quite suddenly Nadya's nausea returned and her head reeled. "I'm sorry, _what?"_

"We should have a baby. I saw you with those children last night, you were wonderful. And I know how much our daughter's death has hurt you, how much you loved her. If we had a baby…" Erik trailed off, clearly not having expected the reaction he was receiving from the woman on the bed when Nadya tore her hands out of his.

"You want a baby to appease me. Erik, a baby is a _life._ A child! A living thing, not a bandage. It would heal no wounds, and it certainly wouldn't keep us together if we're drifting apart!" She exclaimed, utterly appalled. "And besides, I am too old for another baby. You should have left when Nadir told you to."

"You're not too old! You still bleed every month," Erik pointed out, but Nadya shook her head frantically. When she opened her mouth to protest the idea again, Erik interrupted her. "I know Nadir told you to run," he said simply, and Nadya's mouth quickly closed as she looked away with tear-filled eyes. "He told me if I really loved you I would tell you the same thing, that you're better off without me. I can't do that. Call me selfish, but I can't lose you again. I have nothing without you. I _am_ nothing without you."

"Don't say that. You know it isn't true. You're the most incredible man I've ever know. An inventor, musician, architect –"

"None of it matters without you to share it with," Erik insisted, but Nadya only laughed sadly.

"Just look at the things you did without me, Erik. You built a palace of mirrors for a Shah in Persia, composed an Opera, built an Opera house…"

"Oh yes, I was _thriving_ in your absence," the masked man sneered. "A normal, healthy man _should_ strangle merchants, torture criminals, commit murder for the thrill of the hunt, kidnap woman, be tempted to destroy entire cities, attempt suicide! Nadya… I am only whole when I am with you. I was never happier, healthier, _saner_ than when you loved me. I have said horrible things. I have done worse. The things I feel when I think about Christine make me want to kill. They make me feel powerless, like the only way I can control anything in my life is to grab it and never let it go, no matter the cost. You make me feel like a king, a god. When I think about you, when you are in my life I have all the power in the world, but I choose to rise above it. I choose benevolence. I am a better man because of you, because of how you make me feel. You've told me why you love me, so now I'm telling you why I love you. Why you can't leave me. I don't want to be that monster again."

The plea in his voice was unmistakable, and the tears Nadya had been fighting began to fall freely. "You know I don't want that for you either."

"I don't know why I said what I did to Christine. Maybe I said it to scare her into running, or maybe it's true and that same part of me that goes mad at just the _thought_ of living alone again really will always love her, but I swear to you that the part of me that you say you love needs you."

Nadya cried until her body began to shake, and finally pulled her husband up into her arms by the collar of his shirt to sob into his chest. Erik held her tightly, as if she might vanish at any moment. He could kill Nadir for ever planting the thought of leaving into her mind, but for as long as she was here he would do everything in his power to make her proud of him, to make things right. To make things the way they were meant to have been years and years before.

Having drank so much the night before and so little that morning, Nadya's tears did not last long but she somehow managed to soak through the white of her husband's shirt before the hiccups began. Sniffing, she laughed some at herself. "God, I'm a mess… I'm so embarrassed. Nobody should ever have to see me like this."

"Then promise me no one will ever have the chance to again," Erik said, lifting her chin up to kiss her forehead. "You worried me sick last night. I used to be so proud that you were yourself around me. You smiled quite a bit even before we became friends, but your smiles were real when you were with me. When you smile it touches your eyes, and your whole face shines," he said encouragingly, earning him one of said smiles even as Nadya wiped under her eyes with her palm. "I want you to share your tears with me too, not with the bottle."

Nadya nodded her agreement and rested her head against his chest. As her hiccups began to die down, she finally spoke again. "You know, maybe something good did come out of last night."

"What could that _possibly_ be?"

"I finally beat you at chess," she offered, nodding through the open doorway to the chess table in front of the fireplace just outside.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Not my best work, but in part inspired by an event in my life I thought might be fitting. I have in fact had an ex suggest having a baby as a rather pathetic attempt to keep me from dumping him. I'm single with no kids, so obviously it didn't work. Anyway, I don't like writing blubbery chapters like this, so expect something more up-beat soon. :)


	23. Chapter 23

"Good morning," she purred, draping herself over her husband and carefully placing his mask aside to litter kisses across his face. When Erik stretched out beneath her, he was pleasantly surprised to find she was already completely undressed.

"How long have you been awake?" He asked, surprised he had managed to sleep in past her. Nadya pouted playfully and looked at him with large, doleful eyes.

"If you'd rather go back to sleep…"

"I wasn't complaining," Erik answered quickly, trailing his fingers down to the curve at the small of her back. Nothing made him feel as grateful to be alive as feeling her warm and loving in his arms.

More than half a year had passed since Nadir planted the seed of running in Nadya's head, but much to Erik's relief it had not germinated. She had asked that he not live under her roof for a time while she sorted things out in her head, but before long the visits she allowed him were so frequent he simply stayed and took up residence. In those early weeks there was a constant, gnawing worry that one day he would pay her a visit and she would simply have vanished into thin air. The waking nightmares alternated between expecting to open the door to a completely vacant flat above the baker's shop and knowing he had chased her out of her own home and opening the door to find everything exactly where it had been when he last left but with no Nadya to be found, never knowing what became of her. He never could be certain which was worse, but the nightmares vanished the moment Nadya opened the door with a smile that became more and more genuine as the days passed.

Now she lay spent in his arms, humming contentedly after their morning's activities. After a long, lazy stretch Nadya pecked his lips and smiled. "What do you want to eat?"

"Stay in bed, I'll make something."

"It's fine, I want to," Nadya promised with a broad smile before slipping out of bed to dress, and Erik raised a brow – Nadya was by no means a poor chef, but she almost always preferred Erik's cooking to her own given the choice.

"Has someone died? If you're trying to break the news gently you're being terribly obvious –"

Nadya laughed and pushed her hair out of her face with the scarf he had given her several months before. "No, it's just the opposite actually. I suppose I am obvious, aren't I?" She mused, heading out of the room to put on a pot of tea but continuing anyway. With only the two of them in the small flat, it was easy enough to hold a conversation so long as the doors were open. "How does pain au chocolat and chocolat chaud sound? I have a terrible sweet tooth this morning, but I'm open to suggestions."

"That sounds fine," Erik agreed, dressing and changing the sheets on the bed before leaning in the doorway to watch her work. "I'm afraid I still don't know what's gotten into you. Not that I haven't enjoyed it immensely," he added, amused.

"…If I tell you now, you have to promise to humor me for the rest of the day and not to be upset with me until tomorrow." Nadya offered as she set the sweet pastries into the oven to bake.

Erik eyed his wife suspiciously, but nodded his agreement to her condition. Beaming brightly, Nadya moved to him to lift herself on her toes and kiss his now-masked cheek. "Happy birthday, Erik."

"I don't have a birthday," Erik defended, watching Nadya move back to stir the chocolat chaud.

"You were born just like everyone else, so you do have a birthday. And it's today," she added, throwing a pleasant smile over her shoulder. "Your fortieth, actually."

"How can you possibly know that?" Her silence immediately made Erik realize why she had made him promise not to be angry with her until the following day. "You've been in contact with my mother."

"You promised not to get upset!"

"Why would you ever want to contact her after the way she treated you? It's not as if she and I are terribly close!"

"I thought so many questions for her after we left, so I just sent them in the post," Nadya defended. "Is it so terrible that I wanted to know more about my husband? She was surprisingly gracious in answering most of them."

Erik sat at the table and poured two cups of tea from the tea service Nadya set in front of him. Nadya joined him and warmed her hands with the cup he set out for her, watching him expectantly. "Well? Are you going to continue scolding me or can we start discussing the rest of the day?"

"What did she not answer graciously?" Erik asked, too curious to let the matter drop.

"Only the questions I had about your father. All she said is that she was widowed, and the rest was none of my business. You're welcome to read the letter. I was keeping it a secret to keep you from avoiding me all day. You never would have let me plan anything if you knew," Nadya pointed out, and Erik knew he was defeated.

"Fine. What do you have planned?"

"Presents, for the most part," Nadya grinned and ran her leg up his beneath the table playfully. "One you already got this morning. We need to be at the Opera at noon for the next one, and then we're going to Nadir's apartment for dinner and cake before I give you your last present."

"Well, if they're half as good as my first present, perhaps it will be a good day after all," Erik mused. "I hope you didn't spend much? I wish you would let me pay for more."

"I think they're just as good if not better," Nadya promised. "Actually, I didn't spend a single franc on any of them. Breakfast and dinner will be the most expensive parts of the day."

* * *

><p>Nadya held her husband's arm and leaned her head against his shoulder as they slipped out of the Opera. Her second gift had been an enormous success; using Christine's influence over her husband and in turn his influence over the managers of the Opera, Nadya had managed to piece together a one-time concert performance of many of Erik's instrumental compositions.<p>

No one suspected who the composer of the works might be; in fact, the musical director had begged Nadya for a name and a formal introduction to the composer, so impressed was he by the brilliance of the work. Word of mouth managed to fill a few seats in the otherwise quiet theatre; an anonymous composer's work being performed so early in the day was hardly the highlight of Paris' social scene, but that really was for the better. The Opera Ghost had been quiet for so long and there was no shortage of seats, leaving Box Five free and clear for husband and wife to view the performance.

It was the first time in Erik's life he had heard his music in such a way. Since he could remember music filled his every waking thought and most of his dreams, quieted only by heavy amounts of liquor or opiates during his darker days. This… This was another sensation entirely. No human orchestra could perform the work as perfectly as it played in his head of course, but Erik could let the minor imperfections pass – this was _his_ music. It was as substantial as the difference between dream and reality; one might be idealistic, but reality always surpassed the dream.

"Where did you find all those scores?"

"In your house under the Opera," Nadya explained with a smile. "Did you really like it? I was afraid it wouldn't be good enough. I know how critical you are of the orchestra, and your ear is so perfect –"

Erik silenced his wife with a swift kiss as they walked the shadows towards their old friend's flat on the Rue de Rivoli. "I gave up hope of hearing my music long ago. It was marvelous. I thought for certain I had destroyed most of those scores when I tore the house apart."

"You nearly did. Christine and I spent the better part of a day piecing it all back together," Nadya admitted, and Erik glanced down at her with a raised brow. After their fight on the New Year, he was beyond surprised she had spent any time at all near Christine de Chagny.

"What day would this have been?"

"Just over a month ago. I ran into her at the market; the silly girl insists on doing her own shopping, even with all the money in the world and a new baby to look after, can you believe it? Anyway, she invited me by to meet the baby, and I brought what I recovered from your house with me. She was more than happy to help."

"_You_ went to the de Chagny residence?" Erik asked, astonished.

Nadya flicked his arm, and the man chuckled some. "Yes, _I_ went. I had to make sure the child didn't wind up taking after you," she only half teased; it had certainly been at the back of her mind when she paid the Countess a visit. "He's nearly a perfect blend of both of them. The boy is going to break a lot of hearts."

"Well, I suppose he would have to be handsome; he doesn't have the slightest chance of charming anyone with his wit, consider what nature gave him to work with," Erik remarked, and Nadya snorted a brief laugh before covering her mouth. It was true neither Raoul nor Christine was terribly bright, but that certainly didn't make it polite to laugh.

"Yes, well. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I did, very much. I can't imagine a more wonderful gift."

"Good. Then you'll be plenty surprised by your last present," Nadya grinned. "I was worried you'd figure it out before I got a chance to tell you. It's been terribly painful trying to hide it."

Erik's curiosity was thoroughly piqued. "Oh?"

"I won't say another word about it until after supper," Nadya announced pleasantly. "And Nadir doesn't know either, so don't bother asking him."

"And you think it's better than your hideous musician of a husband getting to hear his music for the very first time?"

"I do, and I certainly hope you agree."

"If you tell me what it is, I can tell you whether or not I agree," Erik suggested, and Nadya laughed lightly as they walked.

"That wasn't even a very good try, Husband."

Nadir provided them with a regular feast, his table nearly overflowing with delicacies from all across Europe as well as from his homeland. Even eating until they felt near bursting and including Nadir's servant Darius in the meal, there had been so much food left on the table it felt like a crime. Nadir leaned back in his favorite sitting room chair across from his old friend while Nadya helped Darius to clear the table and tidy the dining room in spite of the servant's protest.

"You're a lucky man, Erik. If you'd taken much longer in finding her I might have married her myself," the Persian teased as they watched Nadya move through the next room with trays of food.

"I'm in a fine enough mood to let that pass, Daroga, but so much as think it again and I will strangle you," Erik threatened only half heartedly, and Nadir laughed. "Besides, she's not cleaning your table out of any respect for _you_. She's delaying me giving me my last present."

"She does seem a little nervous, doesn't she? Have you figured out what it is yet?"

Erik shook his head. "I was hoping you might be able to tell me. I thought she might be hiding it here, since we came straight from the Opera."

"I haven't the slightest idea. If she is hiding it here it's news to me. Perhaps she's been scheming with Darius."

Nadya slipped into the room, smiling nervously. "Darius kicked me out," she explained.

"As well he should have! You have a husband to see to, Madame Renard," Nadir scolded mockingly, and Nadya rolled her eyes at him playfully.

"I'm sorry I'm not so used to being waited on, _Daroga_," she teased, but made no move to sit. After a moment of nervous silence, she spoke with far more confidence than she felt. "I suppose it's time for Erik's last present. I wasn't sure whether to tell you separately, but I've never been very good at things like this so I thought it was best to kill two birds with one stone."

"Stop rambling, woman, you're making _me_ nervous," Nadir chided.

"Right. Sorry… I'm surprised neither of you has guessed what it is," Nadya added, wringing her hands some before smoothing her skirts. Was it usually so warm this far into autumn? "I thought for sure I'd never be able to keep it a secret until today…"

A stern look from both men put her back on track. She bit the inside of her cheeks rather than continue her ramble, thinking carefully for a long moment. Let them guess or simply come out and say it? A quick assessment of their impatience made the decision for her, and Nadya steadied herself on her feet. "… I'm pregnant."

Nadir laughed in delight and rose to hug the woman tightly, kissing both of her cheek enthusiastically. "Congratulations! When can we expect the birth?"

Hugging her old friend back, she glanced over his shoulder at her husband who remained silent in his chair before forcing a smile. "Six months or so."

"You've known for _three_ months and never said anything? How did you manage to keep such a secret for so long?" Nadir demanded, pulling her into the chair he had been occupying.

"I never thought it would stick," she admitted as she sat, glancing over at Erik as he stared solemnly ahead. "After all, I'm no young mare… But she's a fighter."

"She?" Erik demanded, finally looking over to his wife. His eyes shone from behind the mask, far more full of life than the porcelain that so perfectly hid his expression. While she had become quite adept at reading his eyes and his posture, in that moment he was completely indecipherable.

Hesitantly, Nadya nodded.

"My wife thought Reza would be a girl," Nadir remarked. "She was so convinced of it I was almost disappointed to have a son."

"It's a girl," Nadya responded confidently.

"Nadya's intuition is better than most," Erik defended, much to her surprise. Nadir glanced to the man expecting him to say more.

"Well then, what does the father think about all this?" The older man prompted, and Erik stood.

"That is a conversation that belongs behind closed doors," Erik said, causing Nadya to frown deeply.

The silence that fell during the walk home spoke volumes; Erik was every bit as upset about the pregnancy as Nadya had feared. His talk of wanting a baby had been nothing more than an attempt to win her back, to repair their reforming marriage just like she thought. Well, that was just too bad; the baby wasn't any more planned than their first had been, but she would be damned if anything happened to this one no matter what Erik thought. She had gone twenty years without him, what was another twenty, and twenty more after that? If Erik loved her less because of the baby, that was just fine; her daughter was going to have every chance in the world, with or without him.

Nadya's anger was set to boil over when the door to her flat closed behind them, and she rounded on her husband to give him a piece of her mind. Before she could utter a sound, Erik cupped her face in his hands and kissed her soundly for so long her head began to spin. He had been so curt before and so frustratingly silent the entire way home –

Finally she pushed him back and folded her arms some under her breasts. "What is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Kissing me is a bizarre way to stop the silent treatment, don't you think?" She demanded, and to her surprise Erik laughed.

"Would you rather I have kissed you like that in front of Nadir? And I certainly don't think that would have been appreciated by anyone on the streets of Paris. It's after dark, someone would think I was accosting you."

"… So you're not angry?"

"Angry? We're going to have a baby. A little girl, like we should have had years ago - I'm thrilled. Apprehensive, terrified, overwhelmed… but not angry, not at all. Are you going to be all right? Were there any complications the first time? Have there been any complications now? You should sit –"

Nadya couldn't help but laugh at his response. "Now who's rambling? _You_ sit, I'm fine. I had no complications at all before, just a little queasiness at some foods. The hardest part so far has been keeping it a secret and trying not to get _too_ excited. Imagine if I'd told you and then had a miscarriage…" she wondered aloud and shuddered.

"I won't let anything happen," Erik promised firmly, kissing his wife again. "I never imagined I would want children until I found out about our daughter, how she died… I started thinking about how things _should _have been, about how happy we would have been with her to care for and raise. I can't believe we're finally going to get that chance. But what if…" he trailed off, and Nadya frowned against his chest; he didn't have to finish his thought to know exactly what was on his mind.

"Even if she takes after her father like Tsura did, I will love her with all my heart," Nadya promised quietly. "And so will you. Everything else will work itself out in time."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Man alive are grad school applications time consuming! Sorry this took so long. This story will be wrapping up soon, but I have an idea for a sequel I'm really excited about... :D


	24. Chapter 24

"If you were your uncle Nadir, where would you keep the flour?" Nadya asked of the doll-like child sitting on the countertop of the Khan residence on the Rue di Rivoli.

At five years old, Sareh Renard was everything Nadya had ever dreamed she would be and more. Nadya thought she looked considerably like her father; tall for her age and pale with hair as black as pitch, she was a shade thinner than a healthy child of her age should be. If her appetite were any less than it was her lithe little body would have worried her mother sick, but as it was the girl well and plenty. In spite of her long and still growing limbs, Sareh was as graceful and regal as Erik also. She was well spoken, almost eerily articulate for a child her age, with a melodic speaking voice and downright angelic singing voice much the same as her father.

But her face… her face was completely her mother's. Her cheeks were full and her eyes large and the precise same shade of woody brown as Nadya's. Her little nose sat perfectly in the center of her face, just above full, cupids-bow lips through which she could already speak without moving. Her hair was darker than Nadya's, but fuller and wavier than Erik's. Although her skin was pale it darkened easily in the sun and completely lacked the almost sickly yellow tint Erik's held most days.

"Mama, is it true uncle Nadir is dead?"

The Gypsy froze in place and closed her eyes, glad the pantry door would conceal her brief look of grief from the girl. Nadir Khan had died of pneumonia three weeks prior after a nearly half year long illness. Nothing Erik knew to treat the man had worked for very long, and so they resolved to merely treat the symptoms of his illness as they arose. One night he took a cough drought Erik had made for him and simply never woke up. Nadya could not say for certain and did not have the heart to ask, but she was fairly certain the contents of the drink Erik had made contributed more to her old friend's passing than the disease itself.

Since that night, life had been hectic. Erik left the following morning to Persia, having promised the Prince to bury him on his own soil and facing Mecca in the tradition of his people. Nadya had wanted desperately to come, but Sareh was not yet old enough for such a journey and so they remained in Paris in the little flat above the bakery that was their home.

Two days later, Nadya returned home from the market to an eviction notice nailed to the door. The old baker Nadya had rented the flat for years had sold the building and the new landlord thought it would be bad for business to have a Gypsy, her clandestine husband and young child living just upstairs while there were customers trying to spend their hard-earned money inside. After an hour long argument, Nadya cursed the man's name, packed everything she owned and shipped it to the only place she had to go – the now abandoned Khan residence. Upon the passing of his master, Darius had left Paris and the lavish flat on the Rue di Rivoli fully furnished and cleaned to a shine; now all Nadya had to do was find everything.

"Yes, Sareh, I'm afraid it's true," Nadya said reverently, closing the pantry to face her daughter again. Her dark little brows furrowed thoughtfully, and Nadya wondered not for the first time what clever little conclusions she must be drawing behind those smart brown eyes.

"I won't ever see him again, will I?"

"I wouldn't say never, but not for a very very long time," Nadya answered, curiously; She and Erik had explained death to the girl nearly a year before, when Erik's mother had died.

Sareh's lips pulled into a small frown. "But Uncle Nadir can't go to heaven."

There was no pantry door to hide the shock on Nadya's face. "That is ridiculous, who told you that?"

"Mémé said anyone who isn't a Christian can't go to heaven," Sareh answered, and Nadya's jaw tensed. Madame Renard had never been told about Nadir Khan; she could only guess the conversation had come up because of Nadya's heritage.

"Sareh, your grandmother… well it would be wrong to say she was unkind, but she was mistaken. If any person in the world deserves a seat in heaven it is your Uncle Nadir, regardless of what he believed," Nadya promised, kissing the top of the girl's head before lowering her down from the countertop. "Why don't you see if the milk man's come by yet while I find the flour?"

The little girl moved off obligingly and Nadya returned to the pantry, trying hard not to curse her mother-in-law. It was wrong to speak ill of the dead, but the woman had no right –

"Mama, there's somebody here," Sareh called from the front room, and Nadya frowned deeply. As far as she knew she and Erik had been the only people who had called on Nadir when he was alive, and nobody ever came to call on she and Erik. She quickly pulled what she needed from the pantry and put it aside to meet her daughter at the door. Subconsciously she pulled her daughter behind her, eying the stranger in the door suspiciously.

"Can I help you, Monsieur?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Madame, but does Nadir Khan still live here?" The young man at the door asked, peering around her curiously. He couldn't have been older than twenty but was very well dressed and held himself with a sense of authority beyond his years.

"No, I'm afraid not. He passed away three weeks ago," Nadya explained, knowing lying would be useless. If the man had been in the house before he would surely recognize all the furnishings and the distinctly eastern smell that still lingered in spite of the weeks of being occupied by mother and daughter.

The man seemed genuinely upset by the news. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that. Were you related to him in any way?"

"He was my husband's brother. How did you know him?"

"Monsieur Khan was helping me with a book that I'm writing. A detective story," he added, glancing around Nadya some at the little girl peeking out curiously from behind her skirts. "You mentioned your husband is Monsieur Khan's brother. I wonder if he might be able to answer some of the questions I have about the story Monsieur Khan told me several months ago. Is he around?"

Defensively Nadya put a hand on her daughter's head. The intelligence in the young man's face and eyes made Nadya inexplicably nervous, but he didn't seem like me meant them any physical harm. "No, and he's not expected back for another day or two. Is there something I can help you with? My brother and I were very close, I know most of his stories."

"That would be wonderful, thank you very much," the man smiled stepping inside as Nadya moved to let him pass.

"Do you mind if we speak in the kitchen? I was just about to start making supper. You're welcome to join us, Monsieur..?"

"Leroux, and I would be delighted to join you if you'll have me."

Nadya moved back into the kitchen, allowing the young Monsieur Leroux to follow her in. "I am Nadya, and this is my daughter Sareh. Which of my brother's stories are you writing about, Monsieur Leurox? He had so many wonderful tales I can't imagine how you chose just one."

"Is it the story about how he helped Papa escape from Persia? That is one of my favorites," Sareh offered before an alarmed look from her mother quickly silenced her; it was so easy to forget how important her father's secrets were when they were spoken of so freely behind closed doors.

"No, but that does sound like terribly exciting story. Maybe I'll write that one next," Monsieur Leroux grinned at the girl, but Nadya could swear she saw something flash in his eyes… a strange kind of excitement, the look a hound takes on at the scent of a hare. "It's not about his time in Persia, actually. It's a more recent legend, far closer to home. Are you familiar with the incident of the falling chandelier at L'Opera Garnier?"

"Of course," Nadya answered calmly, though her blood was suddenly running cold.

"Did your brother-in-law ever tell you of his involvement in the incident?"

Sensing her mother's unease, Sareh spoke quickly, "Uncle Nadir tells a lot of stories, most of them can't possibly be true. He once told me my Papa can walk through walls, but nobody can do that."

"Sareh, did you bring in the milk like I asked? I'm going to need it in just a moment," Nadya advised, and the little girl slipped out to complete her task. As soon as she was out of the room, Nadya addressed the man in a low voice. "Monsieur Leroux, I apologize but I don't think I will be able to help you with your story after all. You're more than welcome to stay for supper, but –"

"It's him, isn't it? Your husband is the Phantom of the Opera," Leroux asked, and Nadya's jaw tightened in response. "Your daughter is far too pale to have come from both you and a Persian man, so Monsieur Khan can't possibly be her uncle by blood. The way he spoke about the Opera Ghost was always very platonic, as though they had once been very close."

"On second thought Monsieur, I don't think it's a very good idea that you stay for supper either. Let me show you to the door –"

When Nadya attempted to herd the man from the room, he grasped her hands in his and held them tightly. "Madame, I swear to you on my life I mean your family no harm. I came today to ask Monsieur Khan if he had heard from the Ghost – from your husband recently. He seemed worried for your husband's health the last time we spoke, that he might be dead soon. Is that true?"

Nadya pursed her lips tightly, eyes studying the young man's face intently before she spoke. "Erik is not dead. I was honest with you before, he will be back any day. But I swear to you we will vanish into thin air before you can even walk across the street if you publish our secret."

"I would never dream of publishing anything that would put your family in harm's way," Leroux promised again. "But Madame, no one will believe the story is anything more than a work of fiction. You have to admit, it is an incredible tale. Now that the Opera house is home to the Paris Ballet, most of society's already forgotten about the Opera Ghost completely."

Nadya opened her mouth as though to argue, but quickly closed it and furrowed her brow thoughtfully. Sareh slipped back into the room, clearly having been waiting at the door for a lull in the conversation. After placing a jar of milk on the countertop the child moved to tug on her mother's skirts in a plea to be picked up. The Gypsy obliged and scooped the girl into her arms, pushing a strand of black hair from her angelic little face before nodding approval of some unspoken decision. "My husband may be alive, Monsieur, but the Opera Ghost is dead. I will answer any questions you have, but when you publish I want it said that the Phantom of the Opera is dead and buried in the cellars."

-_fin-_

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>There will be a sequel! Let's just say we haven't seen the last of little Sareh, nor of the Phantom of the Opera for that matter! First chapter to be posted soon... maybe later today?


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